Sea to Sky (19 page)

“Listen to me, Helen. It’s okay not to think about him for an hour or two. Give yourself permission to take a break. Watch your favorite soap opera or take a bath or read a good book. It won’t change where Adam is or what he’s doing to worry yourself sick about him. Take care of yourself for
his
sake. Understand?”

She agreed, and Hunter flipped his cell phone closed. He looked around the lobby, but there was no exodus of conference attendees from any of the hallways, or a hubbub from the mezzanine floor at the top of a wide staircase. His cell phone beeped, a low battery warning.

Hunter swore under his breath. Either he’d have to go sit in his car to recharge the phone battery, or take a run back to Tom Halsey’s and pick up the spare battery from where he’d left it in his room, parked in the charger. He patted his jeans pockets for change before realizing that his best option was to use his credit card and make the calls from the lobby pay phone.

Legal Joe had no news for him. “I’ll make a round of the shelters tonight, hand out some photos to the social workers,” he said.  “It’s wet and cold and unless they’ve got friends with a decent roof to stay under, that’s probably where they’ll be.” Hunter told him he hoped that he was right. “You’re going to owe me after this, pal. Big time.”

“I know, Joe. You’ve got my cell number on the photos you’re handing out?”

“Of course. I can’t ask them to call long distance to Helen in Calgary — just won’t happen — and my office line just goes to voicemail after hours, I turn my cell off during the day, and no way I want people calling my wife at home. Besides, you’re the main man on this, Kemosabe.”

Another reason to charge up his cell phone, and soon. He took a look at it and discovered that, its battery now virtually spent, it had turned itself off.

His next call was to El at the Watson Transportation office. He took the liberty of using her 800 number from the pay phone.

“Watson!”

“El, it’s Hunter. I need some good news about the runaways. Anything from your contacts downtown?” A few seconds of silence gave Hunter a sinking feeling. “Did you forget?”

“No, no, I didn’t forget. I haven’t sent any drivers downtown today, but I faxed copies to some of the brokers I know downtown. They spend time on the sidewalks. Well, maybe not so much this time of year.”

“That doesn’t sound too hopeful.”

“Wouldn’t the cops do a better job?”

“Yes, if they wanted to. Adam’s mother tried to file a missing person’s report but the local police put her off.  I’ll suggest she try again.”

“Don’t you have friends in the VPD? Couldn’t you pull some strings?”

“You overestimate me, El.” He wished he could tear himself loose of Whistler to work on finding the boy himself, but he still felt there was a stronger urgency to solving Mike Irwin’s murder than to finding Adam Marsh.

Maybe he was wrong.

El felt she had let Hunter down by not doing more to find the kid, but Monday morning was one of the busiest times of her week. At least she’d taken time out to meet with MJ about that other thing he’d asked her.

“Hey, Hunter. You’re still looking for information on that Blue Hills Industries right?” Another phone line started to ring, but she ignored it.

“You’ve got something for me?”

He sounded eager, and she didn’t want to disappoint him again. “Not yet, but I’ve got a plan.”

“A plan?”

“The next best thing to having inside information on a company’s accounts is to pump the drivers who handle freight in and out of their warehouse, wouldn’t you say? Hang on.” She put him on hold, told the other caller to hold on a minute, and punched his line again. “You still there?”

“You know these drivers?”

“At Blue Hills? Well … no … but I could get one of my guys to snoop around there some, follow a truck, talk to other drivers at the local truck stops or whatever.”

“Forget it, El. That’s a long shot, and what are the chances you’d have a driver with free time to snoop around in Southern California? Besides, none of your drivers will know what questions to ask or how to ask them, and they could end up getting into trouble. We’re talking about something worth killing over, remember?”

She sighed. A driver walked in the front door, waving a bill of lading. “Gotta go,” she said. “Talk to you later, Hunter.”

In the same tone of voice a mother would use to warn a naughty kid, Hunter was saying, “El. Did you hear me?” just as she hung up the phone.

Meredith felt she’d gotten enough out of Todd Milton for the day, and told him a warm “Good bye, see you later,” as she excused herself from the table after lunch. He had a possible motive for Irwin’s murder and apparently he did ski, but just how well remained to be seen.

Next on her list was Brent Carruthers, if she could find him. She kept an eye out for his handsome face, or the blonde hair of his young fiancée, as she made her way from one workshop or seminar to another, standing by the entrance as if waiting for someone, or poring over her handouts as if trying to choose the best speaker to listen to for the next hour and a half.

Just as she was getting ready to give up and go to plan B, which was to find the second man — the grey haired man with a pot belly that she’d seen at Irwin’s table in the GM lounge on Friday night — she spotted Carruthers leaving the men’s room off the lobby. But he wasn’t heading for a workshop. With a furtive look around him, he opened the fire door and ducked into the stairwell beside the elevators. Oh, crap! She knew from experience that those stairs went both up and down, so he could be heading either to the underground parking or to an upper floor.

She walked across the lobby as quickly as she could without attracting attention, and stepped inside the stairwell, taking care to close the door softly behind her as she listened for the sound of footsteps above or below. She thought she heard the thud of a fire door closing from up above, and it sounded no more than two flights away. Grabbing the handrail, she raced up the stairs two at a time, wishing she had sneakers on instead of patent leather pumps, but glad that the venue hadn’t called for stilettos.

When she reached the third floor, she quietly pulled the door open just enough to peer into the hallway. Nothing. To the left and right the central hallway intersected at right angles with perpendicular hallways. She entered the hallway and listened. She caught a faint sound from the hallway to her right before she heard the elevator doors open to her left, and saw an Asian man and woman step out and walk left, trailing two travel bags on rollers behind them. She took a chance on the hallway to her right.

Expecting to catch little more than a closing door, Meredith let her stride carry her into the hallway. About four rooms down, Brent Carruthers and his blonde fiancée were engaged in a little doorway foreplay. Before Meredith could duck back behind the wall, he raised his eyes, and by the way his head lifted she knew he’d seen her.

Sneaking off now would look too suspicious, so she opted to walk on down the hall, hoping that they would be inside their room before she reached the door. No such luck. By this time, they were both watching her walk toward them.

“Oh, hi!” She gave the blonde a friendly wave. “Good to see you again, Tracy.” She pulled a piece of paper out of her pocket, preparing to refer to it, as if looking for information.

“Stella, right? I’d like you to meet my fiancé, Brent.” The blonde turned to Carruthers. “Stella and I met in the hotel hot tub yesterday, honey. She’s here for the conference, too.”

Carruthers nodded, frowning. “Nice to meet you, Stella.”

She was impressed. He was as attractive close up as he was from a distance, and she had an unwanted visceral reaction to his sexuality. No wonder the boss’s daughter fell for him.

He turned and started to guide Tracy inside, but she stood firm and addressed Meredith. “Are you on this floor? Didn’t you get off the elevator before me?”

Meredith waved her piece of paper. “No. I was supposed to meet someone.” She unfolded the piece of paper and glanced at it before rolling her eyes and stuffing it back in her pocket. “Darn. I misread the number. I
am
on the wrong floor.”

“Hey, listen. Are you taking any time off from the conference? I need someone to ski with while Brent’s tied up in meetings. Any chance you’d be free tomorrow?”

Meredith wished she had time to consider more carefully, but her immediate reaction was to say, “I didn’t see anything particularly appealing on the agenda for tomorrow morning, and I’d love to go for a couple of runs.” She thought she might already have enough information to make her client happy, but tunnel vision could be as dangerous for a private investigator as it was for the cops — or more correctly, for the poor sucker at the end of the cops’ tunnel. Until she had something more conclusive about Todd Milton, it couldn’t hurt to have an ‘in’ with Carruthers, and maybe with Tracy’s father as well.

“Meet you in the lobby at eight-thirty?”

Meredith took the elevator back down. By now, the grey-haired man was no doubt locked in the middle of a row of chairs listening to a seminar on logistics or negotiating skills. She checked out the audiences as best she could, and thought she saw the back of his head in the ‘Warehouse and Inventory Management Software’ audience. She would come back before the scheduled break to accidently run into him as left the room. That gave her roughly an hour and a half of free time.

She wondered if Hunter Rayne had found out anything new worth listening to.  Just as she decided it was time to give him a call, she caught sight of him stepping into the elevator that led to the underground parking.

She found herself in the stairwell again, this time heading down. By the time she reached the door to the parking area, cold from the concrete stairs had penetrated the soles of her shoes. She caught up with him just as he was backing an old Pontiac out of a parking stall. He braked at the sight of her and rolled down his window.

“What’s up?” he asked, his breath a brief mist in the cold air.

“Where are you going?”

His jaw muscles bunched, but he answered pleasantly enough. “I just have to run back to the chalet for a few minutes. What are you doing?”

She didn’t answer, just walked around to the passenger side and pulled on the handle. He reached across the passenger seat to open the door and she slid in.

“Crank up the heat, would you?” She was dressed for inside the hotel, no coat, no gloves. “You’re coming right back, I hope.” It was too late. The car was already on its way up the exit ramp.

C
H
A
P
T
E
R

    ELEVEN

Hunter dropped Meredith off back at the entrance to the Coast Peaks Hotel, and decided a visit to the RCMP detachment was in order. He hoped that Staff Sergeant Blackwell was in a better frame of mind, or that perhaps he could connect with the younger detective, Colin Pike, for an update on the case. The information he’d just received from Meredith could be the lead they needed to take the investigation to another level.

He stamped the snow off his boots while holding the front door open for a middle aged couple. The woman was so busy talking, and the man so busy listening, that they totally ignored Hunter’s polite gesture. “I can’t believe they won’t even fingerprint the car. That camera was worth over two hundred dollars, and I want it back,” she was saying.

He had just taken a seat in the waiting area and was about to check for messages on his cell phone when Sergeant Pike showed up at the counter and motioned him to follow. Shane Blackwell was seated behind a desk, and nodded a curt greeting.

“I was just filling Colin in on our morning’s adventure. I would love to get my hands on that gun, but trying to find it in a mountain full of snow would be a waste of manpower. I don’t even think we’ll find it after the snow melts — barring incredible luck — given the territory we’d have to cover.” He rubbed his jaw. “The conference will be over in two days, if the perpetrator hasn’t left Whistler already. Anything new your end?”

“Our PI from California has shared a little information from her investigation that might be a good lead,” Hunter began. Colin’s eyebrows went up. “You’ve interviewed Todd Milton, a friend and former co-worker of the victim’s?” He waited for a nod. “He may have been involved in some kind of scheme with Mike Irwin, possibly something to do with bribes or kick-backs — fairly substantial ones. Six figures, from the sounds of it.”

“He actually told her about it?” asked the older detective.

“She said she posed as a newcomer to the business, and kind of came on to him. He fell for it, and wanted to play the big shot, so he told her about some of the unofficial perks of a purchasing position that involved negotiating large aerospace contracts. Mike Irwin’s name came up, but Milton stopped short of implicating himself.”

“Espionage?” The two detectives exchanged glances.

“Of a sort. It didn’t involve handing over engineering or technical secrets, but it did involve revealing secrets related to competitive bids and supply contracts.” Hunter sat back, letting the information sink in, waiting for one of the detectives to respond.

Shane leaned forward. “So the PI thought this Milton character might have killed our vic? Is that it?”

“What he told her speaks to motive,” said Hunter, “but not necessarily his.”

“So if this is a lead, where do you figure it’s leading?”

“If Todd Milton has a Whistler ski pass, he’s worth looking at more closely. If he was involved with Mike Irwin in something shady, and Mike Irwin was murdered, you’d think that Milton himself could be at risk. Or, unless he knew who killed Irwin, he would consider himself at risk. Did you get that impression from him?” Colin shook his head. “Neither did I.”

“I doubt that a ski pass would confirm anything,” said Shane. “According to the lift attendant, they barely look at lift passes on Harmony. Anybody who’s already been up the first set of lifts on the mountain is assumed to have a valid pass. Besides, the murderer could have paid cash for a day pass or even stolen one. It’s like an expensive bus ticket.”

“True. But there’s no arguing that the murderer had to know how to ski — or snowboard. He or she had to come back down that mountain. According to Meredith, Todd told her he used to ski some as a teenager, but he hasn’t skied since he arrived here. Did you ever ask him for an alibi?”

“SOP,” said Shane. “He said he had too much to drink the night before and slept in. We didn’t check to confirm, because we had no real reason to suspect he was involved.”

Hunter ventured a question. “Have you been able to find any worthwhile information on Irwin’s job or the company he worked for? Or on Irwin himself, for that matter?”

Shane shifted in his chair, looked over at Colin and nodded.

Colin cleared his throat. “Except for the restraining orders by his first wife and a handful of speeding tickets, there’s nothing in his record. We haven’t been able to find out much about the company beyond what’s listed in the usual business databases. No sign of pending bankruptcy or any kind of fraudulent practices that would raise a red flag. It’s a solid, well-established company.”

“Did you speak to Irwin’s boss?”

Again the two detectives exchanged glances. This time Shane spoke. “Colin tells me he isn’t returning our calls. He left a message with his secretary that he has no reason to believe that Irwin’s job had anything to do with a motive for murder, and that Irwin has a history as an outstanding executive for the company.”

Hunter frowned. “Either he’s lying, or I’m way off base in thinking that Meredith Travis is working for Blue Hills Industries. Any way of finding that out?”

“She hasn’t shared that information with you?”

Hunter shook his head. “She’s a private investigator.” He emphasized the word ‘private’. “Who she works for and why is a matter of strict confidentiality, she says.”

“Ditto,” said Shane. “I doubt that we could subpoena the company’s bank records to find out if there were any checks issued in her name — or the name of her PI firm — especially since we don’t have any evidence that the top brass at Blue Hills was involved in the murder.”

“Now what? Do you think you can put pressure on Todd Milton, see whether he’ll talk?”

“We can try, but if he has any sense, he’ll just lawyer up. Looks like the PI is our best hope for finding information we can work with.”

Colin cleared his throat again. “No, Shane.”

“No what?”

“The PI isn’t talking to us, remember? But so far she
is
talking to our friend, here.” He gestured toward Hunter. “So it looks like our best hope right now is
him
.”

Meredith was back in time to watch the audience drift out of the conference room in ones and twos and groups of chatting men and women. Half of them had a cell phone to their ear by the time they passed through the doorway. She glanced at each in turn, and finally caught sight of the grey head she’d first seen Friday night in the lounge of the Chateau Grand Montagne.

“Ha!” She couldn’t help but say it aloud, although she wasn’t yet sure of the significance of what she was seeing.

The grey-haired man was on crutches, with a cast on his lower right leg.

Hunter checked his cell phone messages in the warmth of the detachment reception area, before heading out to his sub-zero car. The first message was nothing but background noise that consisted of unintelligible voices coming and going as if the caller had been in some public space, and a hang up. Wrong number? Some street person calling about Adam Marsh? Who was it that didn’t want to leave a message The second message was from Alora.

“I need to know what’s happening, Hunter. I’m leaving tomorrow, remember? Let’s have dinner together. Call me right away, okay?”

Hunter flipped his phone shut and took a deep breath. He was meeting John Irwin at eight o’clock at the Coast Peaks, and he had no idea how long that would take. He could try for an early dinner with Alora — say five-thirty — so they had time for a leisurely meal, and he could still be on time to meet John, or he could try to set up a late dinner with her. Judging from the last time he’d sat down with John, he wouldn’t be at her hotel until nine-thirty or even later. Either way, he had a feeling Alora wasn’t going to be happy. He decided there was no point in putting off the call.

“Mike’s dad? For God’s sake, why?” was her reaction.

“He asked me. We kind of hit it off the other night, and I believe he just needs to talk to someone other than family.”

There were a few seconds of silence.

“Look, I’m sorry. If you don’t want to have dinner early or late, I could get hold of John and try to reschedule.”

“Don’t bother. It’s the thought that counts.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, but wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

“Did I say ‘thought’? I actually meant thoughtless. I don’t know why I’m even talking to you again. I should have kissed you off for good the other night. Have a nice life.” And she was gone.

Hunter sat back, his shoulders slumped, holding his cell phone and thinking about Alora Magee. He had a choice here. He could make it all her fault — an overly-sensitive bitch and good riddance to her — or he could accept the blame for screwing up yet another potential relationship. He pocketed the cell phone without deciding either way. Yes, it had been a mistake to schedule a meeting with John Irwin on Alora’s last night in Whistler. He just hadn’t remembered that Alora was flying home tomorrow. And he
had
offered to reschedule.

He sighed. He realized that was the point. He hadn’t cared enough to keep track of how much time they had left before she went home. “Women care more,” he said quietly to himself, but not quietly enough. The female officer behind the reception desk looked up and smiled.

“Sounds like an epiphany. Congratulations, sir,” she said.

Hunter shrugged and gave her half a smile. Then he stood up, fastened his jacket, and braced himself for the cold.

The man with the grey hair was standing beside the self-serve bar trying to juggle a plate of hors d’oeuvres, a bar drink, and a pair of crutches. Meredith approached him from behind with a cheery, “You look a little overloaded. Need another hand?”

“Oh, thank you,” he said, looking relieved. “I thought I could manage, but it’s harder than I thought. I’d like to find a spot to sit down.” He nodded over toward the tables that were set up for the conference reception and dinner. The room was large, and there were about twenty-five tables with white tablecloths, each table set for ten. There was a raised dais on the far side of the room, set up with a few chairs, a lectern and microphone, and near each of the two entrances on the near side were self-serve bars, both with a lineup. Many of the tables had chairs tipped up against them as a sign that the seats were taken.

“Do you know where you’re sitting?” she asked, taking the drink and plate of hors d’oeuvres off his hands.

“I’m looking for someone I know.” He was scanning the room, hitching the crutches into his armpits in preparation for takeoff.

She peered at his nametag. The company name was Cordero and Associates, and the name above it was Dave Cordero.

“You’re lucky you know someone,” she said. “I’m new to the industry and don’t see anyone I’ve worked with here.” She gave him one of her most engaging smiles, and was happy to see him do a double-take, but he didn’t return the smile. Instead, a dark hint of suspicion crossed his face; it bordered on menace, and she realized he wasn’t as innocuous as he’d looked when she’d seen him with Irwin that first night. He started moving toward a table on the left side of the room.

“Skiing accident?” she asked, shouldering past a man in the bar lineup to keep up with Cordero.

He seemed to ignore her question, or didn’t hear it. He reached an empty table. There were two chairs tipped up, and no personal items on the table’s surface. “This will have to do for now,” he said, transferring his right crutch to his left hand so he could pull out a chair. “Thank you very much.”

“I’d like to join you, if you don’t mind,” she said, pulling out a chair for herself before he could answer. She couldn’t tell if he was annoyed, but again he didn’t return her smile.

“Of course.” He was occupied with stowing his crutches out of the way, on the floor beside his chair.

She wondered if she had missed the crutches on Friday night. Perhaps the cast on his leg pre-dated Mike Irwin’s murder. “Skiing accident?” she asked again.

He shook his head. “Soccer.”

“Broken?”

“Bad sprain. I stepped in a hole.” He picked up his drink and took a sip.

“A hole in a soccer field?”

“It’s a poor neighborhood, a barrio in Santa Ana. I coach some kids there.” He looked her straight in the eye as he said this, as if defying her to find fault.

She held his gaze and smiled. “Much more impressive than a skiing accident.” She stood up and put her binder on her chair. “I’m going to get myself a drink and some appetizers. Can I bring you anything?”

As she stood in the bar lineup, Meredith wondered if Cordero was being honest. She couldn’t afford to take anything at face value, or anybody’s word for it. Did the man really injure himself on a soccer field in Southern California, or did he jump from a chairlift on Whistler Mountain? Or did he injure himself at all?

By the time she got back to the table, there were two men occupying the reserved seats, and another man sitting to Cordero’s right. Meredith didn’t recognize any of them, but Cordero had been speaking to the man beside him as she approached. She set down her plate of hors d’oeuvres and glass of red wine, then settled herself at the table. Cordero and his companion had fallen silent.