The Killer Trail (15 page)

On his way home, Chris called Deanna to see if he could drop by to take Ann Marie out for supper. It was not his scheduled day with his daughter, but he thought he'd give it a try. He felt as if somehow he was slipping out of her life, and he could certainly use some of her cheerful chitchat after the day he'd had.

He had called Stephanie earlier that afternoon, but she had told him she was busy for the evening, working on an overdue report. She hadn't sounded like herself, and Chris wondered if she was putting off seeing him after the awkwardness of their previous evening. In any case, he'd decided he wouldn't force the issue. Instead, he hoped for a pleasant evening with Ann Marie. Deanna answered the phone on its third ring.

“Hi, Dee. How are you?”

“I'm okay. Is everything okay with you? You sound tired.”

“I'll be all right. I was wondering if it would be okay if I came by to see Ann this evening.”

“I'm sorry, Chris. She's having a play date at her friend's house. She won't be home until sometime after supper.”

“Oh. Well, it was worth a try. I don't suppose you're free tonight?” He was feeling desperately lonely but instantly regretted his question.
I sound so pathetic.

There was a pause. “Actually, Chris, I'm not alone. I... have someone over.”

Shit. It suddenly dawned on him that he was interrupting Deanna's own play date. He felt foolish for calling.

“Ah... okay... well... give Ann a hug for me.”
All the
women in my life are turning me down.
Chris realized he was going to be spending the evening alone after all.
Just Captain
Morgan and me.

TWENTY-NINE

Thursday, February 16, 2:54 a.m.
Pretending to be asleep, Ray surreptitiously watched Neil, the night nurse, complete his three o'clock rounds. He found it laughable how easy it was to trick the idiot into believing he was sleeping when in fact, he was awake and fully aware of his surroundings. Ray had quickly figured out the routine and knew exactly when Neil did his nighttime flashlight checks on patients to ensure they were breathing and accounted for in their rooms. Neil would now go back to the nursing station until the next check at four o'clock.

The coast clear, Ray stealthily emerged from his room and crept down the dark hallway to Paul Butler's room. Paul was sleeping soundly, and Ray was hard-pressed to withhold a laugh at how easy his offensive was turning out to be.

“Sleep tight, sucker,” he muttered as he approached his target. Cramming a sock in Paul's mouth, he delivered a flurry of vicious blows with fists and elbows to Paul's head, leaving him a bloody mess. Ray turned the younger man over onto his stomach, covering him with his blanket.

The hallway was as deserted as before as Ray calmly crept back to his room, thinking defiantly,
You won't miss this
message, Ryder. Don't fucking ignore me.

THIRTY

Thursday, February 16, 9:11 a.m.
When Chris arrived at work the next morning, he found his manager waiting in his office. Had he overlooked a nine o'clock meeting? He couldn't recall one on his schedule, which meant David's impromptu visit must be related to yesterday's run-in with Ray. Chris couldn't remember exactly how much Captain Morgan he'd had the night before, but he foggily figured he might have had about three glasses too many.

“You look like hell, Chris,” David said.

“Just a bit of a late night, that's all. Nothing that a strong cup of coffee can't help.” David looked unconvinced. “Sorry I'm a bit late. Is everything okay?”

“You tell me, Chris.”

“Like I said, I didn't sleep well last night. But I'm okay.”

“I heard what happened, Chris.”

“Nothing much happened. And it's over with now, anyway.”

“No, I don't think it is over. I'm assuming you haven't heard about Paul Butler.”

“Huh? What happened to Paul?”

“He was taken to Health Sciences Centre early this morning. It appears he was attacked in his room at some point during the night. Night staff—”

“Oh my God, is he okay?” Chris could feel his pulse racing.

“We don't know yet. The doctors think he has a concussion, among other injuries.”

“Jesus! Do we know...” Chris was halfway through his question when he realized he knew the answer. “It was Ray, wasn't it?”

“We don't know that Ray was involved in this altercation, Chris. We'll be passing what information we have on to the police. And we'll be doing our own internal review. But—”

“Goddamnit! Did any of the staff see anything? What about the other patients?” Chris' anger was rapidly rising.

“Staff saw nothing. As for the other patients, either they really didn't see anything or they're afraid of repercussions if they talk with staff. We—”

“Jesus!” Chris slammed his fist on the desk. He suddenly thought of the closed circuit video monitors installed on the unit. “What about the cameras, did they pick anything up?”

David sighed. “The picture quality is grainy given that the main lights were off at that time of night. And Ray, uh, whoever did this made a point of covering his head with a towel and avoided looking at the camera. It's clear he knew what he was doing and manipulated our schedule for night checks.”

“That's Ray! It's got to be. Shit!”

“I know how you feel. The truth is, you're not the only one who thinks Ray is behind this. But we need proof, so please be patient and let the investigators do their job.”

“Are you kidding me? We already know who did this!”

David spoke in a quiet, measured tone. “Listen, Chris. You're an excellent social worker and well respected in this hospital, and I personally enjoy working with you. But the events over the last several days have been traumatizing for you and it's showing in your behaviour. You should go home and make a follow up appointment to see your worker at EAP. We can—”

“Did anybody call Paul's mother? Does she know? I've got to tell her.”

“Chris, listen to me!” David shouted. “You are not calling his mother. We'll handle it. I'll have Gerald do it. You're in no state to be calling anyone right now. I want you to go home and get some rest.”

“I can't do that, David. There's—”

“I'm not asking you, Chris. As your manager, I'm telling you. Do you hear me?”

“David—”

“Do you hear me?”

“No. I don't hear you. I can't believe what I am hearing. This is bullshit. You don't—”

“Chris, I'm going to stop you right now before you say anything else that you'll end up regretting. I'm giving you twenty minutes to clear up the rest of your day. Then I want you to leave. And I will check with Security to confirm that you've left. Is that clear?”

Chris took a deep breath and weighed his options. He wanted to visit Paul in the hospital but knew he'd need authorization from his manager. “David, can I say something?” His voice was calm but tight.

“What is it, Chris?” David's voice was also substantially more composed.

“I admit the last little while has been tough. And I know I've made some mistakes. But I'm not out of control. I know what I'm doing. I'm just asking for another chance. Will you give me one more chance?”

“What are you asking me, Chris?”

“Let me visit Paul at HSC. I feel awful about what happened to him. I just want to check in on him. And I want to make the call to his mother.”

David paused to consider the request. A critical-incident review was being ordered into the attack, so the therapeutic rapport Chris had developed with Paul and his mother might prove useful for damage control if the Butler family lodged a complaint against IFP for the incident. Moreover, the social work department would come across favourably for maintaining contact with the Butler family.

“All right. You can visit Paul. We have one of our security officers stationed outside his room. I'll let him know you'll be dropping by. And, yes, you can call his mother. But then I want you to go home for the remainder of the day. Is that clear?”

“Absolutely,” said a relieved Chris.

“Promise me you'll stay away from Ray Owens.” David wasn't looking forward to doing damage control with his superior, Florence Threader. He'd have to explain how Chris and Ray continued to have confrontations with each other despite orders from Florence that they remain separated.

“I'll stay away.”

The Health Sciences Centre was a forty-minute drive from IFP. Along the way, Chris stopped at a Starbucks. As he waited for his venti-sized coffee, he glanced through the day's
Sun
. It was the same old same old. The Canucks had lost their third straight game. There had been another targeted hit on a gang member by a known rival fighting for control over the drug trade. Some politician was going on about fighting the scourge of organized crime in the city; Chris didn't know much about this Charles Longville but passed him off as just another politico using crime to further his own agenda.

He flipped through the pages of the newspaper until he saw the headline, “Still Missing: Elizabeth Carrier
.”
The police were remaining tight-lipped about the investigation into her disappearance and were asking members of the public to come forward with any information. He flashed back to the gruesome image of James Carrier's body at Woodland Park. He couldn't begin to imagine how the Carrier family must be coping with the added pain of a missing daughter.

Chris was sure Ray had played a role in the disappearance of Elizabeth Carrier just as he was sure Ray had been responsible for the assault on Paul Butler.
It was Ray who was
the real scourge on society
, Chris thought to himself. His mind went once again to a dark place that was becoming frightfully familiar—a world rid of Ray Owens, a world where he, Chris Ryder, had come up with ways to make Ray disappear.
What
the hell is wrong with me?
Horrified, he shook the morbid fantasy from his mind, started his truck, and headed toward Vancouver to visit Paul Butler.

The majestic snow-capped North Shore Mountains gleamed in the distance as Chris entered the city. In a perfect world, he'd be heading to Cypress Mountain for a carefree day of skiing or kayaking in Deep Cove or mountain biking on Burnaby Mountain. But this was not a perfect world, and Vancouver itself—home to both wealth and poverty, beauty and decay—was the epitome of contrasts and contradictions. One minute, Chris would find himself in the maze of the notorious Downtown Eastside, driving past a homeless man pushing a shopping cart filled with his worldly possessions through an alley littered with used syringes. In the next instant, he would be driving through Gastown with its highend retail stores and restaurants. He passed a car with a British Columbia license plate boasting “The Best Place on Earth.”
I
guess it depends on where you're looking.

At the HSC, Chris introduced himself at Reception and was told Paul Butler was on Six North, the Intensive Care Unit. Taking the elevator up to the ward, he tried unsuccessfully to shake the memories of his own recent admission to the hospital just days before.

He recognized the IFP security officer standing outside Paul's room, following standard procedure for patients attending appointments outside the confines of the Institute.

“Hey Horace, how's it going?”

Horace looked pleased to see a familiar face. “They told me you were coming.”

Chris nodded. “David got me clearance with your department and the ICU. I wanted to check on Paul. How's he doing?”

“He hasn't moved much the whole time I've been here. The doc checked on him about thirty minutes ago.”

“Okay if I go in?”

“Be my guest.”

Chris took a deep breath to prepare himself. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he'd seen enough evidence of Ray's violence in recent days to know firsthand the brutality that humans inflict upon each other. Shame for having harboured similar thoughts about harming Ray overwhelmed him.
What
am I becoming?