The Killer Trail (24 page)

“Yeah, don't worry about us,” Gerald piped up. “We know you've been kinda busy lately. Saving lives and gracing the front page of the
Sun.”
Gerald's comment elicited real laughter from the group, dispelling any lingering tension.

Chris took a deep breath. “Yeah, well, about that. This hasn't gone over well with David. And Florence is really pissed at me right now. I'm not sure how it's going to end— whether I get suspended or fired. I wanted to tell you that I really appreciate you guys.”

“They can't do that, they're full of shit!” Gerald protested. His colleagues reacted with similar dismay and Chris assured them he'd keep everyone updated on his status. He stood up to leave, and Allison walked over and gave him a hug.

“They'll come to their senses, Chris, realize you're too good to let go,” Sarah offered.

Then Gerald told him to sit down again and demanded the juicy details about the rescue at Woodland Park. Chris could tell that the rest of the team was also interested. “I'm sorry, but much as I'd like to tell you my story, it'll have to wait for another time. You know it's still part of an active police investigation.”
Who am I fooling?
The fact of the matter was that he was too physically and emotionally drained to revisit his misadventures at the park. But he took comfort from the fact that he was leaving on good terms with his colleagues as he headed back to his office.

Chris found a temporary respite from his problems by focusing on his work, mostly interviews with patients and returning phone calls to their family members. He was about to take a break when he received a call from Sergeant Ryan.

“I wanted to let you know that we're closing in on collecting enough evidence to arrest Charles Longville for his part in the murders at Woodland Park.”

Again Chris flashed back to James Carrier's gruesome murder, and the possibility of criminal charges being laid against him amplified his feeling of despair. But he realized he was not alone, that he and Brandon were in this situation together. Brandon was surely catching as much hell from his superiors as Chris was for holding out on the investigation. “How are you doing, Brandon?”

The sergeant said, “Well, our department has become a circus, and it's going to get even crazier when the media get wind of Longville's connection. But I'm hanging in there.”

“So the cell phone helped, did it?”

Brandon laughed heartily. “That phone blew this case wide open. It's no wonder people were willing to kill for it. Our IM/IT guys have been having a field day with it.” He proceeded to fill Chris in on what the RCMP had extracted from the phone in terms of telephone numbers and contacts. “So that's my story. Now, how are things at your end?”

“Not so good.” Chris filled Brandon in on his meeting with his director and her threat to fire him.

“Nah, I can't see them following through on that. C'mon, the way the media's singing your praises about the Carrier case—that's got to be great PR for IFP. By the way, I followed up with Elizabeth today. She seems to be doing okay, all things considered. She asked me to say hello to you.”

“That's a bit of good news for a change.”

“It
is
good, which is my point. Your role in saving Elizabeth has been the one feel-good part about this whole tragedy. That's why the media have run with it. If your top brass have any brains at all, they'll see that it would be stupid to let you go at a time when people are celebrating you.”

“God, I hope so. Guess I'll have to wait and see.”

The sergeant's voice became serious. “Apart from that, I've got good news and bad news. Which do you want first?”

Chris' thoughts jumped immediately to the possible criminal charges hanging over his head and his heart started pounding. He found himself unable to respond. Brandon picked up on his silence. “Okay, I'll start with the good news. I don't think anyone within our department or the CFSEU is going to pursue charges against you. There's nothing that would stick and there's too much of a risk that it would bring unwanted attention to the bigger story—the Longville connection and the possibility that we had someone inside leaking information to him. So I suspect they'll blow some hot air at you, but nothing more.”

Chris sighed with relief. “I hope so. I just want to put this whole thing behind me—Ray Owens, Charles Longville, everything. And get on with my life.”

“Yeah, the spotlight is certainly shining on you right now. But the next big story is always around the corner. Then they'll forget all about you and move on to someone else. I would say Longville may be that person. Anyway, I just thought I'd give you a heads-up.”

“Thanks.” Chris braced himself. “What's the bad news?”

“From what we're learning about Longville's involvement with organized crime, the sooner we have him in custody the better, because he's extremely dangerous. Especially when he realizes that we have the phone. He'll know you're a witness, so there's a good chance he may go after you.”

“Jesus! What about my family?”

“Hold on, I was getting to that. Ironically, you can probably expect a call from CFSEU. They'll likely offer you police protection, and if they don't, we will.”

“Great. And I thought I only had Ray to worry about.”

“You raise an interesting point, actually. Longville hired Owens. If Owens talks, that makes him a threat to Longville. I wouldn't be surprised if Longville goes after him too. Hopefully we'll have enough evidence to charge Longville soon. In the meantime, be careful.”

“I will, and thanks. And by the way, when all of this is over, I'll buy you a beer.”

Brandon laughed. “I'll hold you to it, buddy.”

At five o'clock, Chris was getting ready to leave work when his manager appeared at his door. “I'm glad I caught you.”

“You wanted to talk with me?”

“I wanted to check in and see how you are doing. That wasn't a pleasant meeting this morning.”

“I've had better.”
So what's the verdict? Will I have a job
tomorrow?

“I've been talking with Florence. We've been preparing briefing notes for our communications department. They'll be releasing a statement to the media concerning this whole mess with Ray Owens, including your involvement with Elizabeth Carrier and, by extension, the involvement of IFP.”

He paused, appearing to deliberate on the best way to continue. “Florence wanted you fired, or at the very least, suspended indefinitely.”

“I know.”
Here it comes.

“I told her I wouldn't support your dismissal.”

“You did
what
?” Chris couldn't believe what he was hearing. No one second-guessed Florence, and he never would have expected David to put his own neck on the chopping block after what Chris put him through. “I don't understand. Why?”

“It comes down to what I see as the best interests of our department. I told Florence that you are too valuable an asset to this department and your departure would be a significant loss.”

“And she agreed with you?”

“She wasn't happy, but she's a smart woman. She knows the union would strongly back you up, and the optics of a dismissal right now would look bad if the media caught wind of it.”

“I don't know what to say. Except thank you.”

David gave him a stern look. “Don't confuse this with me condoning your actions. You landed us both in serious trouble. Quite frankly, I don't know that I'd be as able to help you in the future. So please, for Christ's sake, don't put me in a position where I have to. And please, for crying out loud, stay the hell away from Ray Owens.”

Chris nodded. “I'll do my best. I really will.”

“Good. Well, that's all I came to say.” He took in Chris' haggard appearance. “No offence, but you look terrible. Go home. Do yourself a favour and take tomorrow as a sick day and get some rest. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks again, David. I mean it.”

FORTY-ONE

Monday, February 20, 5:25 p.m.
Chris called a taxi to take him to Woodland Park to collect his truck. A pleasant exhaustion overtook him as he sat back and enjoyed the ride. Aside from annoying questions from the driver, who recognized him from the news and couldn't resist asking about the case, Chris was free to take in the sights around him. The sun was setting on a splendid day, turning the sky a stunning shade of orange. For the first time since he'd encountered Ray Owens, his heart did not race in terror as he entered the park. Still, he was happy to retrieve his truck and put the trails behind him.

He drove back leisurely to his apartment with a feeling of contentment. He wasn't sure how he was going to spend his evening. He hadn't heard back from Stephanie. Still, he was happy enough to stay in and while away the hours listening to music.

The phone rang, interrupting his musical interlude, and Chris briefly considered ignoring it and the outside world for the night. But, hoping it might be Stephanie, he picked up.

“Hey, Ryder, sounds like you're partying and didn't invite me. What gives?”

At first, Chris was confused.
This can't be Ray. He doesn't
have my number.
Then he remembered Ray would have discovered his address when he'd first rifled through his truck. Chris clenched his fist in an effort to suppress his rage.

“What's the matter, Ryder? Cat got your tongue? Or is the big shot Ryder too good to take my calls?”

“What do you want, Ray?” he said through gritted teeth as he got up to check to make sure the door was locked.

“I saw you on the news, Ryder. They're calling you a hero. What a joke. I just about shit myself when I heard that.”

“What do you want? Answer me, or I'm hanging up.”

“I bet you think you won,” Ray sneered.

“What are you talking about?”

“Me!” Ray shouted. “You! I bet you think you beat me.”

“Listen carefully, Ray. I wasn't thinking about you at all. And after I hang up, I won't be thinking about you. You'll be gone. In the past.”

Ray snickered. “That's what I'm calling about, Ryder, the past. You tried digging into my past when I was at your shithole hospital the first time. But you didn't get very far, did you?”

“I don't know what you're rambling on about. What's your point?”

“The
point
is, I had this nosy probation officer about six months ago doing the same fucking thing—digging into my past. Turns out she had dug up a report on me from Social Services from years ago, but the bitch wouldn't share it with me. So I paid a visit to her office one night and took the liberty of making my own copy. It was... how should I say? Enlightening.” He laughed.

“Why are you telling me this? Are you lonely or something? Got no one else to talk to in your pathetic little world?”

Ray ignored Chris' jibes. “Most of the report was boring as shit. Didn't tell me anything I didn't already know. Anti-social this and anti-social that. But there was one detail that caught my eye—my old man's name.”

“So what? Are you telling me this because you want me to understand you? Is that your point?”
Is he suicidal?
Chris almost laughed at the thought.
I should be so lucky. But there
has to be some motive. What is it?

“Turns out my old man liked to drink, gamble, and fuck—a lot.” Ray laughed. “Just like me. I never met my mother— probably some skank the old man fucked out of boredom. No one could track her down after I was born, and the old man couldn't care less. So they put me in foster care. But listen to this, Ryder, cause this is where it gets real interesting. The report said he fucked this other bitch—Fiona something or other—and got
her
pregnant, too. Had a son.”

Chris felt his face burning, his heart pounding. He couldn't breathe, and ringing in his ears almost drowned out Ray's next taunt.