The Unlucky (20 page)

“I’ll never be on your side. I’m a cop, not a vigilante.”

Sarah shrugged. “Then you don’t drink coffee.”

Aaron entered the room with three cups. He placed one beside Sarah, one by Parkman and then sat by the dining room table with his.

“I’ll start at the beginning to offer you an understanding. If you’re not going to help us, you surely won’t be stopping us.” She sipped from her cup. “Your partner, Mason, helped Simmons’ daughter Vanessa escape from a warehouse. She had ventured there on her own by accident. I’m not entirely sure how she got there but it had something to do with looking for her father. After a few days, she got stuck there. At first they tried to convince her to partake in warehouse activities. Upon her refusal, they drugged her food. In her stupor, she was raped repeatedly.”

Sarah took the pause to sip from her mug. “When they discovered—”

“Who’s they?” Diner snapped.

“This is only coming out once as I have to leave soon. I’m offering everything I know. I won’t leave anything out. If I knew who they were, I would tell you.” Sarah tightened her jaw. “No more interruptions. Or Aaron will hogtie and gag you and place you in the back closet for a week. Do not push me. I never bluff.”

Diner glanced at Aaron who set his coffee down and glared at her. Parkman shrugged.

Then Aaron said, “This is Sarah’s show. I just do what she says. Best you do, too.”

Sarah didn’t wait for Diner to look back at her before she started talking again.

“They kidnapped Mason’s wife Samantha the next night and offered Mason a way back in, a way to make things right after letting Vanessa escape.” She drank from her cup, allowing the warmth to ooze down her throat and into her stomach. It calmed her further after last night’s morgue visit. “His task was to kill Detective Simmons. I was getting close, though, so they ordered him to execute me, too. He was told his wife would be freed, unharmed.”

Diner was shaking her head.

“But,” Sarah added. “Mason’s wife Samantha is already being … used. I’m sorry.”

“How are your fingerprints on the murder weapon that killed Detective Simmons?” Diner asked. “They came back positive this morning.”

“Simmons was about to murder me in the parking lot when Mason killed him. Then Mason tossed the gun at me. In the dark, I couldn’t see what he tossed until it was in my hands.”

Diner looked away from Sarah. She was angry. It showed in her eyes, the tight-set jaw, and the clenching facial muscles. Diner didn’t believe her, but wasn’t ready to call her a liar yet.

“Mason didn’t go with you to Orillia yesterday,” Sarah said. “He needed to stay behind and deal with Simmons and me. At the CN Tower, we both know that Vanessa was about to fall and there was no saving her, but a suicide only gets buried. A murder victim gets a lot more attention. Killing Joel and Belinda is explained away. You’d shoot them too if you found what I found in that house.”

“There’s more,” Diner mumbled.

“More? What do you mean, more?”

“We found a makeshift grave. There’s at least a dozen other bodies buried behind that house in Orillia. They’re still up there digging. It’s turning into Ontario’s version of the Pickton murders.”

“Pickton murders?” Sarah asked, glancing at Parkman. “Not sure I’ve heard of that one.”

“In British Columbia,” Parkman cut in, “Robert Pickton was convicted in 2007 for the murder of six women and charged in the death of over twenty more, but those charges were stayed.”

“Wow, you keep up on Canadian affairs, Parkman. Impressed.”

“That was a big one. I read the online papers.”

“I have enough criminals in my life on a day-to-day basis,” Sarah said. “I don’t read about them online. But I have heard of Paul Bernardo here in Ontario back from the early ’90s.”

“Yeah,” Diner was shaking her head again. “That was before I made detective. But discussing serial killers and murderers won’t get us anywhere. We could spend all afternoon talking about Jeffrey Dahmer, Karl Toft, Ed Gein, Ted Bundy, and Charlie Manson, but we’ll be no closer to what you’re doing.” She paused and tilted her head back in thought, staring at the stucco ceiling. “Or are you trying to outdo them, Sarah, thinking you’re justified in some way?”

“Let me ask you a question,” Sarah said, leaning forward and placing her elbows on the armrests, coffee cup cradled in both hands. Sarah’s coffee was half gone. She took one more large pull from it and set the cup down on the table by her chair.

“If you knew what Hitler was capable of before the war, say in 1936 or 1937, and you had a chance to take him out, would you?”

“No.”

“You have an answer that fast? So you’ve thought of that question before?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Sarah asked.

“Because, a lot of senseless lives were taken during the war, families destroyed, and I’m sorry for that, but in the end this world has changed because of him. The Geneva Convention. The new laws. The world stops people like Saddam Hussein now. Who knows what the world would look like if Hitler hadn’t risen to power?”

“You’re crazy,” Sarah said. “Sorry, but that’s ridiculous, in my opinion. Too many families, too many people suffered because of one man’s lunacy. Granted, I wasn’t there, but if I knew what I know now, I wouldn’t just kill him, I’d tear his intestines out and put all thirty feet of them on display for the world to see.”

“And you’d be imprisoned or killed for it,” Diner responded, her voice sharp and curt.

“You’re right. And you want to know why? Because fate is what it is? Bit of a lame argument, don’t ya think?”

“Whatever.” Diner adjusted herself on the sofa. With her hands cuffed behind her, she appeared to be getting more uncomfortable as they talked. “Say what you have to say to me. You’re running out of time. There will be a dozen police officers busting that door down in within the hour.”

“Bullshit.” Sarah let her feet fall to the floor and stretched her legs. “You checked Aaron’s history, read his file. You looked up Parkman. You didn’t believe they would harbor a fugitive. You figured they wouldn’t tell you where I was, but you knew I wouldn’t be here or you wouldn’t have come alone. At least that’s what you counted on. But you did come alone because Detective Mason is attending to other business. He’s checking with his colleagues if his wife can come home now. But therein lies the problem for him. Samantha Mason is in the basement of a Chinese restaurant being worked over by a small contingent of a Chinese gang.”

“And how do you know all this?”

“You obviously don’t know me very well.”

Diner leaned forward on the sofa. “What was that with all the Hitler talk?”

“I wanted you to have a better understanding why I killed Fletcher Aldrich’s father. He was the mastermind of the consortium in Toronto that I’m here to break up. He started it and his sons took over. When there was a dispute about Joel’s behavior, he was banned, but continued his evil ways on his own property in Orillia. Fletcher’s father was evil incarnate, a despicable man who should have been killed fifty years ago. Hundreds of women have been murdered because of him.”

“Preposterous. Absolutely ridiculous.” Diner was working herself up. She tugged on her cuffs and tried to get comfortable on the couch. “We would have caught on to someone like that years ago. We’re not some half-baked detective crew eating donuts all the time. And what consortium are you talking about?”

Sarah rose from her chair. “I’ll need your car and your gun to free Samantha Mason. So thanks for the loan.”

“What about me? With murder charges pending, I can understand that kidnapping a detective isn’t much, but I’m still wondering, what about me?”

“When I’m in position, or when Samantha is with me, these men here will take you somewhere unharmed and take the cuffs off. Until this is completely over, Parkman and Aaron will not return to this apartment.”

“You’ll all be hunted down like the fugitives you are,” Diner blurted out.

“Fate, right?” Sarah nodded. “We’ll take our chances. When you discover the whole truth, you’ll understand what motivated me. You might see things differently.”

“I’m sure I won’t. Right is right. Wrong is wrong. Murder is never the way. Never.”

“Really? Okay, I’ll remember that.” Sarah pulled Detective Simmons’ cell phone out. “After Simmons was killed in front of me yesterday, his cell phone dropped virtually in my lap. I grabbed it. Here, read this text.”

Sarah held it in front of the detective.

“That’s the name of a missing persons case that’s a month old,” Diner said. “What’s the address for?”

“Here’s another from the month before.”

Sarah showed Diner, then pulled the phone away.

“Don’t know that name,” Diner said.

Sarah flipped a few buttons on the phone and held it for Diner to look once more.

“That name I know,” the detective said. “Another missing persons. Why are they on Simmons’ phone?”

“These are the names of nomads, wanderers who came to Toronto for fast cash, hooking on the side. No family, no friends. He sent one name per month and probably received payment for it.”

“These girls,” Diner paused. She bit her lower lip, released it and said, “These girls are gone now?”

“They were picked up. The warehouse has them. The same place Vanessa escaped.”

“If Mason helped her escape this warehouse you’re talking about, what was
he
doing there?”

“You’ll have to ask him yourself. Something tells me you’ll see him later today. Oh, one last thing.”

Sarah flipped through Simmons’ received calls list until she stopped on a number. Then she showed it to Diner.

“Know this number?”

Diner shook her head. “Should I?”

“Parkman looked the number up. It belongs to Councilman Marshall Machiavelli. Name mean anything to you?”

“I know who he is, if that’s what you mean. Maybe Simmons and Machiavelli were friends.”

“Maybe.” Sarah got up and walked around her chair. “Maybe. Something tells me we’ll find everything out very soon.”

She walked away. In the bedroom, she grabbed a pad and a pen and made a note for Aaron. After ripping the paper off, she headed back to the living room.

At the door, she put her shoes on and gestured for Aaron to come over.

“This ends today. Here.” she held out the note. “Take this. Read it and do what it says. These are Vivian’s words.” She kissed him long and hard, biting his lower lip softly. When she pulled away, she said, “Let Detective Diner go to her office. There she will find a search warrant. Assure her she’ll want to execute it. Then meet me at the warehouse address on this note. I’ll need a ride to the airport.”

“Why? Where are you going? And what’s at this warehouse?”

“I have no idea what I’m in for. All I know is what Vivian had me write down. Just don’t fuck any of this up.”

“Anything for me to do?” Parkman asked.

“Yeah, the same as Aaron. Follow what the note says to a tee.”

“What about me?” Diner asked.

“I’ll be seeing you later. Aaron will explain. You will have all the evidence you’ll ever need for your court system.”

Sarah turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Diner asked.

“To catch me some bad guys.” She stuck her head out the apartment door, then turned and looked back. “Oh, and thanks for the use of the car.”

“You’re using it against my will,” Diner shouted. “And don’t get a scratch on it!”

“You mean I’m stealing it?” Sarah asked in a high-pitched little girl voice.

“Yes, you’re stealing it.”

“Oooh, cool.”

Aaron stepped in close. “Stay safe, woman,” he whispered in her ear.

“I always do. Thanks for having my back.”

Sarah stepped away, hopped on one foot and ran down the hallway.

She didn’t want to be late because Samantha’s life had little time left. As far as Vivian would reveal, it might already be too late.

Chapter 24

Outside the apartment building, Sarah pushed Detective Diner’s key fob seven times before a car horn beeped to let her know where Diner had parked. Upstairs, it hadn’t crossed her mind to ask.

She headed toward the horn’s short, sharp noise, but stopped a few cars away.

This can’t be right.

An old green car with shiny rims was parked in a visitor’s parking spot. Sarah pushed the fob once more. The green car’s horn beeped.

“Wow, Detective, I would have never pictured you for the muscle car type.”

Sarah circled the vehicle. It was a Pontiac Catalina, circa late ’60s, maybe early ’70s. She opened the driver’s door to a pristine interior, everything polished and spotless. It looked so clean, Diner must have it detailed weekly. She ran her hand along the body of the car and felt the power, the steel, and knew how heavy this older model vehicle was.