The Frailty of Flesh (16 page)

“Ashlyn, what did he say.”

Her gaze met his. “You really want to know? He seems to think I traded in for a younger Daly model.”

The color drained out of Craig’s face as every muscle tightened. For a second, she thought all his rage was directed at her, but he turned and ran down the stairs.

“Craig,” she started down the stairs after him, “I told you I handled—”

The door slammed so hard the chandelier in the hallway rattled. Ashlyn sank down, leaned her head against the wall as the edges of the stairs blurred and the tears spilled over and trickled down her cheeks.

CHAPTER EIGHT

The morning sun was unusually bright and warm for December. Or it was an illusion, contributed to by exhaustion. Craig rubbed his eyes, opened them, looked at his watch and groaned.

It hadn’t been hard to stay awake most of the night. If anything, it would have been impossible to sleep after what had happened. Last he remembered it was just after 4
A.M.
and Lisa’s house appeared to have remained undisturbed.

The tapping sound prompted the conscious part of his brain to catch up to his subconscious. That’s what had woken him up: the sound of someone knocking on the window.

“Some guard I am,” he said sheepishly after rolling down the window. His breath made white puffs in the air, and with the window down a burst of cold rushed into the Rodeo. The kind of cold that cut right through you.

“You want some coffee or tea or somethin’?”

“Really, I don’t want to inconvenience you. I just wanted to make sure nobody bothered you again.”

“Well, it’s no trouble.” She pulled her sweater tight around her body. “Bring your mug in and I’ll fill it for you.”

He followed her to the house and gave her the mug, which still had the remnants of cold tea in the bottom. On the shelf in the corner of the living room there were photos of girls he presumed were Lisa’s other daughters. They didn’t look much like Hope. They had strawberry-blond hair, like their mother. Freckles instead of Hope’s creamy skin. The girls’ faces were rounder, the shape of the eyes and nose more like Lisa’s but filled out.

Lisa returned and passed him his beverage. “My other girls. I’m glad I had girls. Never had much luck with men.” She glanced at him. “No offense.”

That reminded him of something he’d wanted to ask about. “Mrs. Harrington, I don’t mean to pry—”

“Lisa.”

“What about Hope’s father? I didn’t see anything in the file about him. He didn’t attend the trial?”

She walked over to the couch slowly, with her back to him, fiddling with the chain around her neck. “I kept Hope away from him.” She turned around then. The look in her dull eyes was like someone had just snuffed out her soul. Mouth settled into a hard line and her shoulders sagged, as though a weight had just been dropped on them. “It’s not easy raisin’ kids even with two parents these days. But I’ve managed.” She sank down on the sofa and sighed. “You worry about so much sometimes it seems like that’s all you do. I spent years worryin’ he’d come and take Hope away from me. Seems crazy now.”

Lisa was leaning forward, arms resting on her legs, fidgeting as she stared off vacuously at the floor. He felt a surge of anger, only a shadow of what he’d felt the night before but still undeniable. Some women used men and drove them away.

Women like his mother.

And some did their best and still got shafted. What kind of man wouldn’t even attend the trial when his daughter was murdered?

“I don’t mean to upset you,” he said as he sat down across from her, “but what about the father of Hope’s half sister? There’s no chance Destiny’s dad…?”

Lisa blinked, then shook her head. “He was long gone by then.”

Craig nodded. “I’m not saying I think Donny’s innocent. I just have to be thorough. It’ll help if I review everything and show nobody else could have done it. His lawyer will exploit any avenue we don’t pursue and use it to create reasonable doubt.”

“But he’s been convicted, and he lost his appeal.”

“The legal process is complicated.”

She swallowed. “They called and said he was getting released.”

“I thought they hadn’t had the parole board hearing yet.”

“Apparently the lawsuit changed things. They sent that letter and it took a week to get to me, but he’d already had his meeting Thursday. He’s supposed to get out tomorrow.”

Craig thought about that. Lisa’s testimony had been crucial, and was the main reason Donny had been convicted. “You should take the girls, stay in a hotel for a few days.”

Lisa raised her hand. “No. I’m not leavin’ my home. It ain’t much, but it’s what I’ve got and I can protect us. You mean well, but if we start runnin’ how will we ever stop?”

Part of him could understand how she felt. He stood.

“You don’t have to worry. I won’t let him anywhere near me or my girls.”

Craig nodded as the sound of footsteps approaching drew his attention. It was obvious from the photos they were Lisa’s daughters.

“Destiny, Desiree, say hello to Constable Nolan.”

The older girl, Destiny, did as she was told while averting her gaze. Shy. Quiet. Reserved. That’s what struck Craig about how she carried herself.

Desiree was lively and exuberant. “Hi,” she said, then turned and ran down the hall. Destiny followed, and then Craig heard the sound of doors closing in the distance.

“Can I use your bathroom?”

Lisa nodded and gave him directions. It didn’t take long to establish they shared one primary bathroom, with their toothbrushes and hairbrushes all present and accounted for. Plus a bonus: every drawer was labeled. Destiny and Desiree each had her own place to put her stuff.

He slid the drawers open and sifted through the contents. Once he’d located what he was after he bagged and labeled samples, then quickly flushed the toilet and ran some water. Oldest trick in the book, but effective.

Lisa was waiting by the door when he returned. “It was”— she cleared her throat—“good of you to keep an eye on things.”

“I’m just glad everyone’s okay.” After he thanked her he went back to his vehicle. He started the Rodeo and began to drive back to Coquitlam. Before long he was surrounded by the remnants of an early morning fog that hadn’t burned off yet. It wasn’t until he got to the Portman Bridge that the sky completely cleared, gold rays shimmering on the Fraser River, making it look prettier than it was most days. Blue sky surrounded the mountains to the north.

There were a number of things still bothering him. The fact that nobody had tried breaking in to Lisa’s could mean the intruder had found whatever they were looking for. Lisa hadn’t said whether anything was missing, but he’d seen the way she put everything back in the box, as quickly as possible, without really sorting through it. She might not have noticed.

It could also mean they’d returned to his parents’ home, but the box they were after was gone. That was what convinced him of the connection, although he wouldn’t admit it to that reporter. He’d only needed a quick look to realize that the files disturbed were from the same time as the Harrington murder investigation. That couldn’t be a coincidence.

And then there was Emma Fenton. She knew more about this case than she’d even hinted at, and every time he turned around there she was. At the station, at the coffee shop…

At the mall.

As he drove along the Lougheed Highway, he switched lanes. Checking up on his stepmother would have to wait; he needed to talk to Ashlyn. He stopped at a grocery store, pretty much the only option at that hour on a Sunday morning, and searched through the bins for a bouquet of flowers that didn’t look picked over or lifeless. Since it was close to Christmas there were also shelves of stuffed bears and skiing snowmen, ornaments and tinsel.

Flowers or a bear? Or both? Did the size of the gift reflect how sorry he was? He knew it wasn’t actually the gift that mattered. It was the effort. Coming home with a bouquet that hadn’t been hastily thrown together after pulling flowers out of a neighbor’s garden meant he’d actually thought about her long enough to go to a store and buy something.

Maybe he should get some wine as well. The pasta she liked?

Once he’d spent more time and money at the store than he’d planned he drove to the lab and dropped off the samples, then went to the house.

Her car was gone.

“Thanks for covering for me,” Sims said when he returned to the room where he’d been working, monitoring a cell phone nobody was using. Just one more futile effort to make headway on a case that was filled with dead ends. He set a cup down in front of Ashlyn. “Isn’t it a bit early for ginger ale?”

“You’re drinking that sludge.”

“You don’t like coffee?”

“I just can’t stand the smell of it right now.”

“Ah.” Sims nodded. “You should really take a day off, get over the flu.”

Ashlyn fought to keep her eyes from narrowing. “I have a murder to solve, and I’m fine. I just don’t want to drink any damn coffee.”

Sims picked up his own mug and took a sip. She almost smiled. He was wisely avoiding eye contact.

“I did start looking at Byron Smythe.” Sims set down his mug. After rifling through a short stack of papers he removed a folder and passed it to her.

She’d felt her heart rate escalate just hearing the name, and her jaw clenched. As she took the papers from Sims he flinched.

Inside, he’d started to put together a list of high-profile clients and cases and other dealings. Ashlyn whistled.

“I thought he was just on speed dial with the drug dealers and importers.”

“Real estate can be quite profitable for lawyers. That seems to be what ties him to Richard Reimer.”

“That, and a lot of money. Any way to know if these deals aren’t legit?”

“I’ll keep looking, see if I can turn up anything, but I’m not sure how I’d prove that.”

“Maybe check the history of the ownership of the properties? Reimer’s flipping a lot of land.” She pulled up one paper and passed it to him. “Third down. Isn’t that where that huge condo complex is being built?”

Sims nodded.

“There’s a lot of money in condos.”

“I’ll check the building permits and dig up whatever else I can on the lawyer.”

“Thanks, Sims.”

He looked as though he was about to say something, then nodded.

“What is it?”

“Are you just looking for dirt on Reimer, or do you want to take this lawyer down?”

Ashlyn stood. “Right now, I’m just looking for information. Smythe is known for dealing with a lot of drug suppliers. There’s a strong possibility Shannon didn’t kill her brother, and is a victim. For all we know, someone else was in the park, someone who wants a piece of whatever Reimer earns a living from. It explains why Christopher Reimer would lie about who hurt his brother, because he’d be afraid. And it explains why the parents would call their lawyer.”

“It’s a good theory.”

“But that’s all it is. Just a theory. Two days ago it seemed pretty reasonable to think Shannon killed her brother. Now I’m not even sure she’s still alive. Theories are useless without evidence to support them. That’s why I need to know what connects Reimer and Smythe.” Ashlyn paused. “Any word on the footprints?”

Sims shook his head. “Not yet.”

She left Sims and wandered down the hall. Tain was standing at her desk, looking at a file, his jacket on.

“Hey,” she said.

He turned and stared at her for a moment. “You look like shit.”

“That’s how I feel. Look, about yesterday—”

“I saw you looking through the reports. I’m going to re-interview these ones.” He held up the folder. “Unless you’ve got something else.”

“I’ll get my coat.”

“I can handle it.” He walked away.

Craig had put a roast in the oven and while that cooked he did the laundry, cleaned the house and chopped vegetables, with Blue Rodeo’s
Lost Together
on the stereo. Then he’d put the flowers for Ashlyn in a vase and left it on the kitchen counter with the bear beside it.

After that he’d picked up some lunch and went to his parents’ house, parking close enough to have full view of the driveway. He shut off the engine, reached for his copy of
The Fever Kill
and got comfortable.

It was supposed to be his day off, but he was running out of options. Unable to locate Ted Bicknell, he figured the best chance he had for answers was still finding his dad.

Assuming Alison was correct, Steve would arrive home that afternoon. If he did, Craig planned to talk to him before anyone else had a chance.

His stepmother was expecting Dad to fly in, and that gave Craig one moment of doubt. Since he’d moved to the Lower Mainland, whenever Steve flew in Craig had always picked him up. Alison didn’t like driving to the airport.

There’d been no call from his dad to make arrangements, but he realized under the circumstances Steve would be handling the transportation home himself.

After almost three hours a taxi pulled up in front of the driveway. Craig put the book down and got out of his vehicle.

Steve passed the cab driver a few bills and as he put his wallet away he looked up. His eyes widened with surprise at first, then settled into a questioning look.

“If you were coming for dinner you would have parked in the driveway.”

“I’m here to talk to you.”

“Whatever it is, can’t it wait? I just got home—”

“Home as in your house. But you flew back to BC two days ago.”

Steve’s expression hardened, but he held up a hand and spoke calmly. “Where I’ve been is none of your business.”