The Unlucky (7 page)

Mrs. Jennings had parked on the third level. Once she was settled in her car, her bags neatly packed in the trunk, he said his goodbyes, accepted her two-dollar tip—had to, even though it wasn’t allowed, because she wouldn’t entertain protest—and watched as she backed up three times in order to exit the parking space. A moment later she was headed down the spiral exit toward Yonge Street.

Instead of reentering the mall, Jamie decided walk to the main floor through the garage. Maybe he would get lucky and find the Charger.

On the second floor he stopped and counted over a dozen white car roofs. He wasn’t up on car makes and models yet. That was what notebooks were for.

He opened his and reread the plate number.

Then he started toward the first white roof.

A Challenger. The next one, a four-door BMW. It wasn’t until the seventh vehicle that he stopped and stared at it from a distance.

Someone was sitting in the driver’s seat. He appeared to be looking at something in his lap. Could be texting on a phone or playing a game while waiting for his wife or girlfriend.

Jamie approached with caution. He stayed two rows over, making sure to remain behind SUVs and larger vehicles. Before walking out into the open and exposing his position, he dropped behind the bumper of a car and lay flat. Then he rolled behind another car and peered between the two at the plate number of the suspect vehicle.

It was like winning a lottery. He couldn’t believe his luck. The plate was an exact match. From where he lay, he could read the word Charger on the right side of the trunk.

He had done it. He had solved a crime. Maybe he could put it on his resumé. Durham Regional Police would love to have diligent, intrepid, brave men on their team. He fist pumped the air and almost punched the exhaust pipe of the car he hid behind.

His radio crackled and he jumped, smacking the top of his head on the bumper of the car in front of him.

He rolled away until he was behind a van and got to his feet.

He radioed in his position and reported he had found the White Dodge Charger that the police were seeking. The patrol supervisor told him to hold his position while he informed the authorities. No congratulations, no offer of a pat on the back.

Jealousy. That’s all that was.

Jamie was going to go places. One day he would make detective while his patrol supervisor would still be a patrol supervisor. Then he would see who gets the pat on the back.

Then he would see.

Chapter 7

Tim winced as the paramedic examining him prodded his injured hand on the back bumper of an ambulance while Niles and Marina watched.

“You always carry your piece in your personal car?” Niles asked.

He had one of those thick Magnum P.I. mustaches from the seventies or eighties. Behind Niles’ back, the guys at the station called it a seventies porn ’stache. Tim couldn’t help but look at it when Niles talked. It was like a small rodent had died and now lay under Niles’ nose.

“Just run the plate number,” Tim said. “If we get a hit, we can find the girl and get my gun back.”

“I called it in when we got here.” Marina cleared her throat and wiped something off her lips. “Certain people upstairs are going to be pissed you had your piece stolen. That kinda shit goes on your record.”

Tim winced as the paramedic pushed at another sensitive spot.

“You almost done?” he asked.

“You’re fine,” the medic said. “Nothing new broken. Pain’ll subside soon. You have something for the pain?”

“Yeah,” Tim said as he pushed off the back of the ambulance and walked away.

Officers were taking statements from the waitress and the two women who watched the whole thing. People stood outside businesses across the street; others watched from windows. It was a regular peep show happening on John Street.

John Street.

The irony of the name never hit him before. Imagine a hooker walking John Street.

He laughed to himself.

“Something funny?” Marina asked from behind him. “After burying your daughter this morning, you’re down here having a covert meeting and then—”

He stopped and spun around to look at her as a phone rang. She turned away from him, her cell up to her ear. She appeared to be listening. She nodded, then dropped her phone in a pocket.

“Plates came back. A rental. Enterprise.”

“I knew it,” Tim said.

Marina frowned and put a hand on her hip. “How did you know?”

“Instinct. Can you get the name off the rental agreement?”

Marina nodded. “Already got it. But it can’t be right.”

Now it was Tim’s turn to frown. “Why not?”

“It doesn’t add up. Someone’s using a fake name.”

Tim stepped toward her, eager to hear the name. “Tell me. Who rented the car?”

“You might remember her. Saved a lot of people in this city a few years in a row.”

“Huh?”

“That American psychic girl, Sarah Roberts. Any chance you screwed the number up?”

Tim mumbled, “No chance,” as he stumbled away.

“It fits with the shooting,” Marina said to her partner Niles. “At least that’s what we’re working with.”

Sarah Roberts?

Not Erzabet. Of course. That’s why he recognized her. The braids threw him off. She even used a name that he would match with the braids. She knew his past. His name. She knew about the consortium. She spoke with Vanessa. All because she was psychic or something.

His stomach rolled as his legs weakened for the umpteenth time today. He leaned against a car, panting, his heart smacking against his rib cage.

“You okay?” Marina asked.

“Yeah. The hand’s throbbing. Just give me a sec.”

If Sarah was here and she knew everything, then he was done. She brought down The Rapturites. She attacked a street gang even the cops were afraid of. The MS-13 or something. Cops retired because of Sarah. He remembered her having friends. Tough guys. Friends on the force and the FBI.

But what was she doing in Toronto? Didn’t her boyfriend live here? He couldn’t remember everything as he hadn’t worked on those cases, but he knew a few cops who worked close with Sarah. She was an enigmatic vigilante who lived by her own rules. Of course she would know what to say to him. She would know where he had stashed his gun. Sarah would know everything, and he figured his life was about to change for the worse.

Marina’s phone rang. She grabbed it without taking her eyes off Tim.

“Speak.” She nodded and smiled. “They sure?” She nodded again. “How did they know about it?” Her eyes moved to Tim. “Scanner. Makes sense. We’re on our way. Make sure they stay where they are. Don’t let that car leave their sight. I’ll be there in minutes.”

She jammed her phone in her pocket and turned in a run.

“Who was that?” Tim asked. “Where are you going?”

“They found the Charger.”

“Gathered that. Where?”

“Parking garage. Second level. Eaton’s Centre.” She looked back. “You coming?”

Suddenly his legs had strength again.

“Wait. What did you mean before when you said to Niles that it fit with the shooting?”

“Just that it was Sarah Roberts who shot Vanessa. We have three cell phone recordings that place Sarah at the scene, firing three times into your daughter.”

Tim didn’t know how much he could take in one day. And how could Marina say what she just said so casually, as if discussing a dead dog on the highway?

“What …” Tim muttered.

“We have her fingerprints on the murder weapon, too. That’s why there’s a publication ban and we seized all the recordings at the Tower. At least we thought we got them all.”

“But why?” Tim asked, stunned, his head beginning to hurt, throbbing at the temples.

“Sarah’s done a lot of good for the people of Toronto. Someone high up wants to hear her side of the story before it all comes out. She’s earned some respect around here. I was given this case to make sure she gets that respect.”

“Then why tell me now? Why are you bringing me in on this?”

“She involved you, not me. This little meeting took place because she has an agenda, a purpose. Find Sarah, learn what she’s up to, and we’ll discover why she went after Vanessa. Are you coming or not?”

“Nothing would stop me,” he gasped as he breathed in deep.

He would interview Sarah himself. Assaulting a police officer. Breaking and entering. Stealing his weapon. The last one to see Vanessa alive before she was murdered.

Sarah wasn’t psychic. She was full of shit. It was risky meeting him like that. What if he had known what Marina knew?

What could she have gained by talking to him?

He should have shot her. When officers arrived, they would’ve understood. Sarah Roberts was a murderer, after all.

An eye for an eye. Sarah Roberts had to die.

But before all that, Sarah had a lot of explaining to do, and he was just the one to accept her apology and atonement for what she had done.

Chapter 8

Sarah walked up University Avenue, then turned down Queen Street and unbraided her hair as she hit Bay Street. Detective Timothy Simmons’ gun fit snuggly at the back of her waistband. Vivian hadn’t been forthcoming as to why it was necessary to harass the father of the dead girl or steal his weapon. When Sarah asked her sister if Tim was responsible in any way for Vanessa’s attempted suicide, Vivian had replied that Tim had done terrible things that would catch up with him soon enough, but that he wasn’t holding the smoking gun. Tim’s daughter had gotten herself into trouble all on her own. Tim knew the people responsible, but that was the only connection.

One thing Sarah could rely on was absolute truth from Vivian. But that truth came when Vivian was prepared to offer it.

Sarah was still angry with what Vivian made her do. Shooting Vanessa with so many witnesses couldn’t end well. Sarah could’ve died jumping from the CN Tower. So many things could’ve gone wrong. A limit in how much Sarah was willing to trust Vivian appeared on the horizon. It seemed Vivian would do whatever she wanted whenever she wanted, consequences be damned.

Usually that was fine with Sarah. That was their foundation, who they were. But unjustified murder? Even in Sarah’s angriest moments, Vivian intruded to remind her that Vanessa was dead anyway and murder had been the only way. Suicide kept buried the things Vivian needed exposed. Murder opened the proverbial can of worms.

So Sarah kept listening, doing, performing. Meet Tim at the funeral. Braid hair. Claim to be Erzabet. Question him. Rile him up. Escape his presence, but call Aaron and have the car moved. Steal Tim’s gun. Meet Aaron later. Next step happens tomorrow. Blah, blah, blah.

Sarah had done it all and was now one block from the Eaton’s Centre parking garage. Vivian had not unveiled the next step or who she would be chasing tomorrow.

Sarah turned south on Yonge toward the Shuter Street entrance to the parking garage when two police cars raced by, sirens off, lights rotating.

She slowed her step.

Three black and whites were coming from the other way with an unmarked cruiser behind them.

Sarah picked up her step again. They couldn’t have run the plates, called the rental agency, got the name and then found where Aaron had parked the car in all of a half hour, could they?

Unless Tim called it in early and they caught a lucky break.

Aaron was with the car. He would be waiting for her.

Shit!

She jogged the rest of the way, entered the access door to the parking garage and took the flight of stairs to the second level two at a time. Once there, the metal door opened without a sound. An inch was all she needed to watch what was taking place. The police cars had surrounded the white Charger. Officers with guns out shouted at the driver of the car to get out with his hands up.

Her fury with Vivian rose for dragging Aaron into this and allowing him to get involved when Sarah had come here to make peace. This was the last thing she needed. Aaron had fled this life and with one phone call was being arrested for her.

The car’s door moved slowly until it was fully open. A moment later, Aaron’s hands rose above the roof of the car as he emerged.

Three officers jumped in, two holding him down while the other cuffed him from behind. One of the officers forced his knee into the back of Aaron’s neck. Aaron yowled in pain.

Sarah opened the stairwell door, ready to run at them, but Vivian screamed in her head to stand down. The scream was so sudden and overwhelming that Sarah staggered on her feet. Stunned, she grabbed at the door to avoid dropping to her knees. With one deep breath, she eased back into the stairwell, but not before Aaron’s eyes found her.