Split (12 page)

Sad?
“What happened?”

“Oh, I’m being so rude. Would you like another drink?”

Mak noticed that Roddy had removed the empty shot glass when she wasn’t looking. She was grateful for it. Roy was pointing to her half-finished mineral water.

“Do you want a fresh one?”

She felt the Slippery Nipple starting to take effect. Even with her Amazonian height, drinks tended to take effect quickly. She supposed it was because she only began having the odd drink fairly recently.

“No, I’m fine for now. Thanks anyway.”

“Do you mind if I get a beer?”

“No, of course not. Are you kidding?”

He just smiled and called the bartender over. Roddy reacted to his presence with a slight pause. He was used to Makedde being there with her girlfriends. She wondered if Roy picked up on his reaction.

“Hmm, what do you have?” He glanced around the bar. “Could I have a Moosehead, please?”

Mak felt herself relax a little more.
This is just a normal date, Mak. You do remember what a normal date is, don’t you?

Roy turned to Makedde and smiled. “You look fantastic,” he said.

Oh, don’t blush, Mak. Please don’t blush.

Makedde’s Dutch complexion had the habit of displaying her emotions a little too clearly. Her cheeks were like red beacons when she felt awkward or embarrassed, and her face was easily robbed of all colour when she became tired and stressed.

“Thank you.” She desperately wanted to change the subject. “So what’s it like working in security? Do your powers differ much from the local police?”

“Oh yeah, you said your father was a detective inspector,” he commented.

Sometimes he thinks he still is
, she thought to herself and grinned. He still had the respect of the police on both sides of the water, and he certainly still had that unerring desire to know exactly what was going on at all times, particularly in his daughter’s life.

“Well, I’m afraid our powers of arrest are pretty much that of every Canadian citizen. We can’t arrest someone unless we actually witness them committing an indictable offence. We have a lot less power than the police, who simply need probable cause.”

“Right. So if you catch someone breaking a window you can arrest them and hand them over to the police?”

“Exactly. And if I find someone chasing a suspect and saying that they saw such a thing, we could arrest the person and hand them over.”

Mak had on occasion heard tales of the frustration of security guards, and now she was starting to understand why.

“Do you have a partner that you always work with?”

“We all pretty much know each other, but we work alone generally, as staffing requirements don’t permit doubling up. We have to patrol an area with five hundred and one buildings and over thirty thousand people.”

More frustration.

“What happened tonight?” she asked, continuing what was turning out to be an interrogation of sorts. “You said something was sad.”

“Oh…yeah.” Roy paused and a sombre, faraway look came over his face. “I, umm, I was called to investigate a bit of a racket at one of the residences at UBC. And when I got there, this woman was banging on the door to one of the apartments, hysterical and crying. She wanted her daughter to open the door for her.”

His tone was sincere, and Mak was touched to see this big man talking in such an emotional way.

“What really choked me up though, was that I knew who the woman was,” he went on. “I recognised her last name. She has a kind of unusual name, so I remembered it. You see, her daughter was reported missing recently. It was on one of the bulletins.”

Makedde’s stomach twisted at the thought. “Oh. How terrible,” she said.

“I know. I checked afterwards to be sure, and it
was definitely the missing girl’s place. I mean she didn’t really have any reason to think her daughter would be in there.” He shook his head. “I tried to calm the lady down, but she wasn’t thinking clearly. She was obviously suffering from a lot of grief. It’s so sad to see stuff like that.”

Who is missing?
Makedde wanted to ask, but didn’t. She could see how much his work affected him, and she thought it was probably a good idea to change the subject.

“Why don’t I order a drink, and we’ll make a toast to new friends?” she suggested.

Roy broke into a smile and nodded in agreement. “Good idea.”

“Roddy, could I have your Martini Special?”

“Coming right up.”

“Oh…hang on.” Mak stopped him by leaning across the bar and reaching out for the back of his shirt. “What
is
the Martini Special?” she asked.

He laughed. “Chocolate.”

“Chocolate?”

“Yes, a chocolate martini. You’ll like it.”

“Okay, Roddy. Whatever you say.”

Her drink came in a flash and Roy insisted on paying. After a brief struggle, she agreed to let him. “I’ll get the next round,” she said.

“Can I have my beer in a glass then?” he asked before Roddy took off. He turned to Mak. “Just to make it seem a little more fancy,” he explained.

Makedde smiled, amused. With his beer in glass and her martini in hand, they raised their glasses for a toast.

Clink.

“To new friends.”

Mak nodded. “To new friends.”

And to moving on from the past.

Grant frowned when the phone rang. Reluctantly, he extracted himself from Amanda’s side and made for the mobile ringing in his coat pocket on the dresser.

Hate that thing.

“Wilson,” he answered in a low voice.

“Grant, it’s Mike.”

He knew it would be.

“What now?” he asked. “Not another one?”

“No, not another one. Worse.”

“Worse?” He caught Amanda’s attention and held a finger up to suggest that he’d just be a minute. She smiled with her hazel eyes in response. He could see she was tired. “Hang on a sec…”

He walked into the hallway and closed the bedroom door behind him. Cherrie was still out with her boyfriend, and the house was quiet and dark.

“Worse? What’s worse?”

“Well, not worse exactly…” Mike began.

Grant took a deep breath. He was still irritated that Mike had let his brother come along to their last gym session. That was just one more stress that he didn’t need. “Mike, stop beating around the bush and just tell me what it is.”

“I got a call from my brother…”

Speak of the devil.

“He’s upset that one of our guys questioned him.”

“One of our guys questioned Evan? About what?”

“He was out around the Nahatlatch. Not far from the dump sites.”

Grant actually hit his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Idiot. What the hell does he think he’s doing?”

“I don’t know. Maybe he’s just curious.”

“Curious?” That man was definitely a loose cannon. Grant found it unsettling that Mike’s brother just
happened
to decide to attend a conference on psychopathy and watch the presentation of the Profiler that was helping them on the case. That smelled off to him. Since when did Evan attend conferences on anything? Apparently it was open to the public, though he was sure the organisers must have had psychology students in mind as attendees, rather than bartenders in strip joints. What was his game?

“Curious?” he repeated, incredulous.

“Well, you know Evan,” Mike said.

“No,
you
know Evan. I choose to know as little
about him as possible.” Grant leaned against the wall and ran a hand over his face. He tried to imagine Evan poking around the woods with a flashlight, or something similar. Why? He tried to imagine him getting stopped by the RCMP, asked about his reasons for being there…

“He thinks he may be in some sort of trouble,” Mike said of his brother.

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing. It’s just that he’s concerned that they suspect him now for some reason…You know, just ’cause he was out there.”

“Well, was he being suspicious? I mean, more suspicious than usual?”

“Now, Grant…”

“That was a dumb thing for him to do, Mike, but if he hasn’t done anything wrong then tell him he’s got nothing to worry about. It’s that simple.”

“Could you just call that FBI agent up for me, Grant? Just ask him story, you know…ask him if my brother’s a suspect.”

Oh, great.
He thought about that. He didn’t like the gist of the phone call. What if Evan really was guilty of something? Would Mike be compelled to cover it up? “I’ll make the call, but no promises, okay?”

“Fine, Grant, no problem.”

I don’t like this,
he thought.
I don’t like this one bit.

Mike changed the subject. “How’s Cherrie?”

“She hasn’t come home yet.”

“And Amanda…?”

“Same as usual. I’ll talk to you later, Mike. I’ll make some inquiries.”

“Thanks for that, Grant.”

He returned to the bedroom and Amanda was there, waiting for him. To him she was the most beautiful woman in the world, even now. Even like this. She had suffered limb paralysis, and it was increasingly difficult for her to speak or swallow. They had to suction the moisture out of the back of her throat so she wouldn’t die from inhaling the amount of saliva that healthy people routinely swallow.

Lou Gehrig’s Disease was more common in older men, but here she was, not yet fifty, and already the disease was destroying her motor neurons at an alarming pace. Her muscles were deteriorating rapidly, and through it all that wonderful mind of hers was just as it had always been. She had been diagnosed just over a year earlier, and the doctors said she had a few months left in her at the most.

“Sorry, honey, I just need to make a call, and I’ll be back with you in a moment,” he told her.

She didn’t reply, but he knew she understood.

He grabbed his wallet off the table and walked back into the hallway, carefully closing the bedroom door. He had Dr Harris’s card with the number for his room at the Renaissance Hotel scrawled on the back. Mike had already programmed the number into the
mobile phone for him, but he didn’t have the slightest idea how to retrieve it.

Dr Harris picked up almost immediately.

“Bob speaking.”

“Dr Harris, it’s Sergeant Wilson.”

“Grant. How are you?”

“Fine, Bob. Except…Well, to tell you the truth I’m calling because…umm. Is Evan Rose on a list of possible suspects in the Nahatlatch Murders Case?”

“Ahhhh…He’s your colleague’s brother, am I right?”

“Yeah, that’s right. Look, don’t get me wrong, I know he’s trouble, but he’s not
that
kind of trouble.”

“What exactly do you mean?”

Grant did his best to backtrack, realising what he’d said. “I don’t mean anything by that. I just mean that—”

“This is a little awkward,” Dr Harris said. “Perhaps we should get together and talk about this? And I don’t think it’s a good idea to discuss this with your partner, if you haven’t already.”

“Why does Evan interest you?” Grant asked.

“He was lurking around the dump sites. He holds a current hunting licence,” Bob said. “And he’s a UBC dropout.”

“I know, but…why is that relevant?”

“This is just routine,” he assured him. “He was out snooping around the area and we need to eliminate him as a suspect. I’m sure you’ll agree. We’ll discuss it
tomorrow. In the meantime, if you could throw some cold water on the situation with your partner that would be great.”

Dr Harris hung up the phone. “This could get complicated.”

Andy shook his head. “You’re not going to be very popular with the Mounties.”

Bob didn’t look too worried. “It isn’t a popularity contest. If this guy fits the profile, which he does, then we have to look into it. Thank God he’s just family and not actual RCMP. I don’t care so much about Corporal Rose, but I want to keep this Wilson onside if I can. He’s a good cop. I could use his help.”

Andy closed the file he was looking at. The crime scene photos were ugly. They had spent some time roaming around the dump sites and discussing the case with Wilson and Rose, who seemed more relaxed about his presence now. Andy had not worked a lot of serials apart from the Stiletto Killer Case, but his training told him that they were dealing with a very different personality this time around. This guy wasn’t messing with the bodies as much. No apparent mutilation. Shooting was much less intimate than what the Stiletto Killer had done.

He and Dr Harris had decided to work on the case together. It would act as some good apprentice work, and would look great on Andy’s CV. But even
more than that, he was genuinely interested in assessing the possible danger to Makedde while the killer was loose. He suspected that Bob knew about his ulterior motive, but was playing along anyway.

“What have you got on this guy?” he asked.

“There’s no hard evidence of course, but he fits the profile well, and we need to look into it.” Bob walked over to the window and crossed his arms. The pose reminded Andy of Detective Inspector Kelley back home—another man he respected a lot.

“Evan Rose, twenty-eight years old, no steady job, lives alone. Known for his antisocial behaviour. He’s been picked up during bar fights, that sort of thing. Never actually convicted of any assault, though. He’s a UBC dropout who may hold a grudge against academics or successful students. The victims were bright and attractive. Maybe his student sweetheart jilted him? Remind me to check into that.”

“Doesn’t look good, does it?”

The victims were bright and attractive…
“It looks good for us if he’s the guy. I don’t care who his brother is. Evan Rose has just emerged as one of the prime suspects.”

Debbie was exhausted. As much as she tried to concentrate on her dilemma and how she could get out of it, she couldn’t ignore the hollow ache in her belly. She was starving. She had been restrained in that same spot for almost three days now, and her whole body cried out for release. She needed to move. She needed to rotate her wrists, to walk, to stretch, but she was trapped.

For the moment she let her head hang to one side. She had struggled and screamed and begged and fought, and now she was simply still. She no longer believed she could sway the man who had captured her. She had exhausted all of her strategies, and found a sad, pitiful place within herself that was calm and obedient.

Just do what you want and then let me go.

The man had done many strange and confusing things. Sometimes he seemed to enjoy watching her struggle, but even so, Debbie had heard about the sorts
of atrocities that people can commit, and she knew that men in his position could do far worse things. Perhaps he was working his way up to something?

She looked aimlessly around the room, over the wooden floors and into the darkened corners, and saw a pair of strange, lifeless eyes. It was a stuffed rabbit. The small creature stared at her—fearfully, she thought—from its spot on a table to her right.

A great crashing sound ripped into her train of thought, and her captor burst in unexpectedly. She jumped in her chair, sending a rush of pain through her ankles and up her legs. The chair screeched as it hopped back. She screamed and tucked her chin down, locking her eyes tightly shut.

“Stop that!” he yelled. “Stop that!”

I didn’t do anything!
she wanted to scream, but she was too afraid to speak.

Debbie cringed at his ferocious temper. But he was crying too, actually crying like a child, and through her bleary eyes she saw his fist come towards her, sailing through the air in slow motion, and she tried to duck, but there was nowhere to go.

Her body hit the floor with a thud, the pain in her jaw excruciating. A great black void beckoned her into unconsciousness.

She went willingly.