The Ambitious City (20 page)

When she heard MacNeice come in, she turned to him. “I have an idea,” she said, “though it might be a long shot and you’ve all probably thought of it before.”

MacNeice looked over at the image of Taaraa’s abdomen, then
down at his hands, hoping he had a hangnail he could busy himself with. Finding none, he looked down at the wear on the carpet and waited for the inevitable.

“What is it?” Vertesi asked.

“So far, based on those he’s attacked, would we all agree he’s not likely to change his type of target?”

“I think I can see where this is going,” Williams said.

“He’s attacked a South Asian, a Korean and a black from South Africa. If a Muslim detective who also has a PhD in criminology were to hold forth on the sick mind of a racist, he might come after her.” Aziz looked directly at MacNeice, whose eyes were now focused somewhere in the vicinity of the whiteboard casters.

“Way to ease back into the job,” Williams said wryly.

“You mean use yourself as bait,” Vertesi added.

MacNeice stood up abruptly and asked Aziz to take a walk with him. He was already in the stairwell by the time she’d picked up her jacket. As she left the cubicle, Vertesi called after her, “Good luck, Aziz. It sounds like a scary good plan to me.”

They went down the stairs to the parking lot without speaking. She took a seat on the bench near the exit door and waited. MacNeice walked back and forth for a minute or so, then stopped in front of her. He told her about the knife and how quickly the slasher struck. “Samora hadn’t even dropped her fishburger, that’s how fast.”

“It’s a solid plan,” Aziz said softly.

“Fiza, I wanted to bring you up to speed, not risk your life.” He leaned against one of the columns supporting the overhanging roof.

“It’s solid and you know it. I’m a Muslim. Surely I’d be a prime target—an overachieving Muslim woman. Mac, it’ll work.”

He wondered if she felt she had something to prove. Or was she already caught up in the injustice of it and unaware of how grave
the risk actually was? Had she been that bored in Ottawa? He actually said that out loud. They argued then, but the more MacNeice protested, the more it became plain to Aziz that he’d thought about the idea even before she’d offered. Yet he still refused.

Taking another tack, Aziz insisted that her status as a criminologist rather than a detective gave her an edge. She could speak credibly about the character of the killer. “I want to—what was the phrase Williams used?”

“Flush him out.”

“Exactly. How could he resist me? I’m just what he wants.” She looked up at MacNeice, shading her eyes from the sun that backlit him, glancing off his shoulder.

“And then?” He sat on the bench, looking down at the ants that had gathered around a discarded candy.

“That’s where the team comes in, where you come in.” Seeing where his eyes were focused, she gently kicked the candy into the parking lot. The ants scattered, then wandered around looking for it. MacNeice and Aziz sat for several minutes watching as the insects searched for the candy. Then one of them found it, and, mysteriously, the others followed as if nothing had happened. They looked at each other and she shrugged.

He told her again, in detail, all he knew about the tall, slim man. That he stalked his victims, knew their habits—knew exactly where they’d be at a given moment—that he struck swiftly, without warning. She smiled as he repeated himself.

“Come on, Mac. Together we can take out one psychopath with a knife.”

“How?”

“I’ll study the case some more. By tomorrow I’ll have something close to a decent psychological profile. You call a press conference and introduce me as the city’s specialist on hate crimes. That was my doctoral thesis, so it’s more or less accurate.”

He looked off to the treeline. “Here less than a day and you have a new position. Christ, this is risky.”

“You mean because it will work, right?”

“Yes, Fiza, I think it has every chance of working.”

They could sense that something had happened the moment they entered the cubicle. Ryan, Williams and Vertesi all looked sickened.

“We’ve got another Web image taken with a cellphone,” Williams said.

Ryan pulled up the photo on screen. It was a shock for Aziz, who had yet to see any images of Samora Aploon. “This is terrorism—sheer bloody terrorism,” she said, a hand involuntarily covering her mouth.

She was right, of course. The slasher was trying to scare the hell out of everyone except those who shared his beliefs. He had peeled open her T-shirt to reveal the gash from her breast—a shocking pink—to the neck, taken his photograph and then covered her up again. “He wanted that breast to be seen around the world.”

“Sadly, that’ll make it even more popular,” Aziz said.

MacNeice turned to the whiteboards. “Print it out and put it up.” On his desk was an envelope from Forensics—cold, clinical views of a young woman slaughtered on a beach. Scanning the boards, the horror of the past few days made his heart race. He thought,
Keep breathing, keep breathing
.

“Okay, Aziz,” MacNeice said plainly and simply, in front of the whole team. “We’ll try your plan.”

Before she or any of them could respond, Vertesi’s cellphone burped to life. He swung over to his desk and picked it up. “DI Vertesi, Homicide.” There was a silence as he signalled MacNeice and put the cell on speaker phone. “How are you, Ms. Hughes?”

“I’m in Dundurn, at the Holiday Inn near … Secord and the Queen Elizabeth Highway. I’m with my brother. It’s late in the day, I know, but I’m here to see Gary’s body.”

MacNeice nodded the way people do when they have no choice.

“All right, Mrs. Hughes, I’ll pick you up at nine tomorrow morning,” Vertesi said.

“Sue-Ellen, it’s Detective Superintendent MacNeice. We’ll bring you to the division first. It will take some time to make the necessary arrangements, and it will be very helpful—if you’re willing—to interview you here.”

“That’s fine. I thought you might want to, but I’m also determined to see my husband.” She said goodnight and hung up.

“Michael, call Richardson first thing tomorrow and let her know what’s happening. She’ll figure out the most compassionate way to present the remains of Sergeant Hughes to his wife. Though, for the life of me, I can’t think of any.”

On the way home MacNeice slipped
Solo Monk
into the CD player, hoping for calm. When his phone rang, he pushed the hands-free and said, “MacNeice.”

“You know where I was earlier this evening, Mac?” The mayor’s breathing was short; MacNeice could tell he was walking.

“Too late for a quiz, Bob.”

“The American embassy in Ottawa, for dinner with the ambassador, the premier and some flacks from External Affairs. That place is sleek and sharp, but it’s a fucking fortress—makes our city hall look like public housing.”

The mayor went on to say that the session on the waterfront project had been derailed when the ambassador asked for a private conversation with him. It turned out that the ambassador had got a call from someone in Washington about the fact that
the body of a veteran had been found on the very site of the project. The man’s widow, a woman named Sue-Ellen Hughes, was asking questions of her government: if he’d been found dead in Dundurn, could Veterans Affairs restore her family benefits so she could feed her kids?

“So, Mac, are we sure it’s her husband?”

MacNeice heard a door open and close and the ambient sounds of the night disappeared—the mayor was home.

“We’re sure.”

“Well, the ambassador’s pissed he wasn’t told by us first, and the External Affairs lackey threw me under the bus—God, I love that cliché. Anyway, I blamed it on you.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

The mayor asked if he was being a smartass. MacNeice told him that he wasn’t kidding. “Bob, I’m a legit alternative target for a couple of reasons: one, I don’t answer to the American ambassador, and two, my responsibility is to find out who killed him and why.”

Maybank told him then about the real reason for his visit to Ottawa. A groundbreaking party was being planned for the museum site at the bottom of the dock on Tuesday, September 15. “I don’t want this Sergeant Hughes to be an issue—understood?”

“Well, your media guests will basically be standing on the spot where the six bodies were found. I don’t think that wrapping up the Hughes case—which I certainly hope to do by then—will deter them from asking ‘Is this where you found the bodies, Mr. Mayor?’ ”

“I’m prepared for that, sure, but it’ll be better for all of us if I can say we solved it.”

MacNeice heard the toilet flush and wondered if Maybank realized that such sounds could be passed through the receiver, or perhaps he knew and just didn’t care.

“Just so you know, Bob, Sue-Ellen Hughes is here to identify the body tomorrow morning.”

He heard a big sigh.

“It’s late, Mac. I’m going to bed. Just keep me posted.”

“S
HE’S HAVING A
coffee in number three, sir, and her brother is with her. He and Gary served together. He didn’t say a word on the way over here, just sat in the back seat looking out the window.” Vertesi took off his jacket and put it over his chair.

“I’ll join you, Michael, but so we don’t overwhelm her, Fiza and Montile, you’re behind the mirror.”

“She’s very strong, but I really don’t think she’s prepared for this.”

MacNeice waited a minute for Vertesi to get settled with notebook and pen. Looking through the interview room’s narrow sidelight window, he studied the brother. He was wearing a loose long-sleeved grey jersey and black chinos; his hands were clasped comfortably on the table in front of him. His hair—shaved on the sides, with barely more on top—suggested he was still in the army. He sat looking past Vertesi to the mirror, its purpose surely not lost on
him, and then, feeling eyes on him, he snapped his head towards the window and MacNeice.

MacNeice entered the room and Vertesi made the introductions. “Ms. Hughes, Mark Penniman, this is Detective Superintendent MacNeice.” Penniman stood up and offered his hand first. He was at least an inch taller than MacNeice, with wide shoulders and pronounced trapezoid muscles that braced a wide neck. His grip was much stronger even than MacNeice had expected. Sue-Ellen didn’t stand but offered her hand as well. MacNeice expected her handshake to be gentle—it wasn’t. He wondered if this was a family trait or just something the United States military encouraged. He sat down opposite Sue-Ellen, and Vertesi continued his briefing about the homicide personnel assigned to the dock slayings.

In a soft-pink summer sweater, she was even lovelier than Vertesi had managed to convey—distinctly and wonderfully all-American. Only the dark shadows under her eyes betrayed her anxiety and loss.

“There are many questions we believe you can help us with,” Vertesi said as he wrapped up. “But I know you’re anxious to get to the viewing. I’ve asked DS MacNeice to brief you before we leave.”

“Before I do,” MacNeice said, “Mark, are you currently serving?”

“Yes, sir. I’m on leave to attend my father-in-law’s funeral. I’m due to go back to my unit in Afghanistan next Tuesday.”

“My condolences for your loss.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Were you and Sergeant Hughes close?”

“Peas in a pod, those two,” Sue-Ellen interjected, with obvious pride.

“We were both with the 2nd Brigade combat team,” Penniman
said. “We served together overseas, made master sergeant together. I was the one who introduced Gary to my sister when he came home with me on leave.”

“Gary and Mark got their stripes on the same day.” Sue-Ellen was clearly struggling to keep the tone light.

“I appreciate that you accompanied your sister here today,” MacNeice said.

“It’s where I should be, sir. And, for the record, Sergeant Hughes was a soldier’s soldier—if I make myself clear.”

“Perfectly. I didn’t want to overwhelm you both with people right off the top, but DIs Aziz and Williams are observing this conversation from the other side of the mirror. They will also play a role in the invesitgation.”

Mark’s face relaxed slightly now that MacNeice had put names to the invisible observers.

MacNeice added, “You’ll meet them both in due course.”

“Is it normal,” Sue-Ellen asked, “to have such a large number of investigators on a homicide case?”

“We’re also trying to find out who killed another man we found at the same time, also encased in cement.”

“My sister downloaded a news article that said there were six altogether.”

“Yes, but the other four had been there for more than seventy years. While we are researching those deaths, they don’t have the same urgency as the two most recent.”

“Understood.”

MacNeice cleared his throat. “I don’t really know how to prepare you for what you’ll see at the morgue.” He met Sue-Ellen Hughes’s eyes. “Won’t you reconsider the viewing? I can’t see how it could be anything but hurtful for you to see what was done to your husband.”

Her eyes welled up and her brother put his hand gently on her
shoulder. “I do appreciate that,” she said, “but I can’t let Gary go without seeing him one last time.”

MacNeice looked at each of them before speaking. “All right, I understand, but I think you should hear in advance what you’re about to see. Please brace yourselves, as this description will be extremely painful to hear. Is that understood?”

She nodded as her brother, his jaw tightening, held her hands in his.

“Sergeant Hughes was mutilated. His face was sheared off, from the top of his skull to the neck and back to the ears.”

For a long beat nothing registered on her face to suggest she’d actually heard him. But then she convulsed, pulling her hands out of her brother’s grasp and covering her mouth to keep from screaming. Her brother gathered her in and she began to rock back and forth in his arms, sobbing into his chest. Penniman’s own face seemed frozen, at first with shock and with anger. Vertesi got up and left the room, returning with a box of tissues and two paper cups of water that he put on the table in front of them.