A Bodyguard to Remember (3 page)

I didn’t say anything.

“Prudence?”

“You told me not to tell you.”

“Prudence!”

I was saved a lecture from the professor. My low battery indicator pinged and I used that as an excuse to disconnect. I knew what Seth was going to say and he had a point. It might not be safe to poke around a crime scene. This was borne out when I returned to my car. A tall, solid man in a dark suit and darker overcoat was waiting for me. He flashed a badge.

“Ms. Hartley?”

“Yes?”

“I’m Detective Sergeant Merrick. Would you come with me?”

Would I? The man looked more like a mob enforcer than a cop. He was beefy enough, that if you put him in the right uniform, he could be a Starfleet marine. Or, he could have been the killer.

“Would you show me your badge again?” I asked, sudden fear gnawing at me. My flight response was ready to kick in.

He pulled out his badge again, this time holding it steady while I examined it. Not City Police Services or OPP, it was an RCMP badge.

“What’s up?”

“It’s a matter of national security, Ms. Hartley, not a matter I wish to discuss on the street.”

I stared, slack-jawed. He had the build of a marine, the voice of Mr. Spock, and the dialogue of a ‘Man in Black’.

He gave me a slight smile, a lift to one side of his mouth that indicated understanding rather than humour. For a moment I was afraid he could read my mind.

“This is getting surreal,” I muttered.

“It’s all too real, Ms. Hartley.”

Two black-and-whites pulled up; my eyes went to them like ball bearings to a magnet. These guys were here for the long haul, armed with coffees and boxes of donuts.

“Don’t worry about them, Ms. Hartley, they’re just here to watch your house until we get our team here.” He put a hand to my back, gently guiding me toward his dark sedan. “In your statement to the police, you said you had a laptop with you when you first met the deceased.”

“Yes,” I said. “It’s in my car.”

He stopped abruptly. His hand dropped from my back.

“Was it in your car last night?”

“Yes,” I said, nodding vigorously as I turned back to face him. “I always keep it with me just in case.”

His nod was slow, thoughtful.

“Can you get it, please? I think it may answer a lot of questions.”

The good news was, he didn’t think I was a spy. The bad news was, the dead guy
was
a spy, and they suspected he slipped me something at the coffee shop. He was probably trying to retrieve it when he was killed.

I was sitting in a briefing room in one of the Federal Offices downtown. Someone had brought me a cup of bad coffee. It wasn’t drinkable, but I held it because it was warm and the room was cold. I had to hold it anyway because the table was covered with the contents of my pack, purse, and pockets.

The pack was my portable office. Everything from laptop to paperclips was identified while I confirmed that there was nothing present that I hadn’t put there. Then it was all taken away for further examination by a geeky-looking guy with horned-rimmed glasses and a worried smile.

Merrick stripped off his gloves and exchanged a few words with the geeky guy just outside the door—just beyond my hearing. Then Merrick returned to sit across from me.

“Let’s go over your statement, Ms. Hartley.”

We went over my statement, line by tedious line. It was already twice as long as the one I gave Parrino the night before. I had pulled out the notes I took for Hope. With my permission, Merrick had someone photocopy my scrawl. Not that I wanted to give it. Besides my recollections of the day, my notes included observations and running commentary about the investigation last night. He would know that Parrino reminded me of the undertaker that helped us with my aunt’s funeral and that I remembered that I had prepared a resume for Kallas once and, if I recalled correctly, she was better educated than most of the people on the scene with the exception of my ex, the professor. If any of that got back to Detective Parrino . . . embarrassing.

On the whole, I figured Merrick owed me something. I asked about the deceased.

“His name is Whelan Nadar. He’s a known contract employee of an unknown intelligence broker. He acts as a go-between for the broker and his, or her, suppliers.”

“You have no idea who he’s working for?” I asked.

“None.”

“What could he have given me?”

He hesitated. “We don’t know.”

I gave him the same look I give my kids when they’re holding out on me. I didn’t expect results, but he gave up a bit more.

“We don’t know what format the information will be in, but he acquired payroll information.”

“Payroll?” Pay grades were top secret? Then it occurred to me that it was
who
was being paid that was important. “Oh.”

He nodded.

“Why me?” This was a whine on my part, not really a question.

Merrick answered anyway. “Probably because you were handy. We were following Nadar. We think he was at the coffee shop to meet someone and we hoped to catch whoever it was.”

“So I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He nodded like he smiled—just barely.

“Essentially. Nadar was searching your house when he was found and shot. Understandably, your attention was focussed on the dead body in your living room. There’s evidence that he was going through your closets, drawers, and cupboards, at least on the first floor.”

Merrick removed his reading glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Though I had been sitting across the table from him for most of the morning, I couldn’t have told you his eye colour, but now I noted they were dark and shadowed with fatigue. His thick, wavy, salt and pepper hair was cut short enough to resist getting mussed in anything short of hurricane winds. His suit was wrinkle-proof. His face wasn’t so lucky, but the lines around his eyes and mouth were the result of weather and stress, not age.

I sympathised.

“I expect,” he continued, “he was waiting for you to return with your laptop.”

I gave an involuntary shiver. If he hadn’t waited two days, he might have caught me home alone, or worse, home with my kids.

“Why did he wait so long?” I asked.

“If he left something with you because he knew he was being followed, he would have wanted to shake his tail before he retrieved it. He succeeded. We didn’t catch up with him again until after he died. We’re assuming he staked out your home and waited until you were gone—not expecting you to take your computer.”

He couldn’t have been watching me too long or he’d know I always took my laptop with me. Experience had taught me to always be prepared. I might meet a client or need to spend time waiting with my mother in an emergency room. I had extra-long lasting batteries for hospital waits.

“In a way, you’re lucky someone else got to him first. Unfortunately, you may still be in danger from whoever killed Nadar. We don’t know if the killer was after Nadar or the information he was carrying.”

“How do you know the killer didn’t get the information? Nadar could have found it and been killed for it.”

“We don’t know for certain. We can’t assume anything, Ms. Hartley. This is why we will need to hold on to your laptop and the contents of your pack.”

“For how long?”

He shrugged. I had a bad feeling I might never see my laptop again. At least I also had a desktop computer.

“When will I be able to go home?” I asked.

“I’m going to take you there soon. I want you to take a better look around and see what is out of place. As for moving back into your home, I don’t know. We have to process the house for evidence. If it’s not on your computer, we have to look for whatever Nadar gave you.”

I tried for a matter of fact nod, but I don’t think I pulled it off because he added, “I’ll make sure the mess is cleaned up before you return. Your life will be back to normal in no time.”

Liar.

You’ve been through worse, I told myself. You’re tough. You can do this.

“Good thing I got around to replacing the old carpet,” I said aloud. “Laminate will make clean up easier, won’t it? Of course, if it gets in the grooves, we’ll never get it completely clean. Do you think I could see what it looks like with Luminol? That’s the stuff you use, isn’t it? Was there blood spatter on the wall? We just painted . . .”

I was babbling. Merrick stopped me with a raised hand, palm forward. “You won’t have to go home to bloodstains, Ms. Hartley.”

I waved his hand off with exasperation.

“I won’t be going home at all for who knows how long. Where are we going to stay? My mother is in assisted living and I am not going to stay with my ex and his wife. The rest of my relatives live too far away to help. Of course, I’m not sure I want to go home. Someone broke into my house and murdered someone there. Even if they don’t come after me—”

This time a knock on the door interrupted my babbling. Merrick left and returned with two extra-large cups. He took away the untouched office coffee and put one of the cups down in front of me. According to the white crayon on the lid, it was an ET Capp. I was impressed.

I looked up. He was giving me that half-smile again.

“I’ll make sure you’re taken care of. While we process and clean your house, we’ll put you and your children up in a hotel close to your neighbourhood.”

“I’ll need to pack a few things . . .”

“You can pick up some new things.”

I frowned. “My budget isn’t up to this, Sergeant Merrick.”

Again with the fractional smile. “Within reason, we will cover your expenses.”

“Does that include a laptop so I can work?”

He raised a single eyebrow and stared. Very Spockish.

I returned his gaze and discovered he had grey eyes —deep grey like the lake at twilight. I had time to count the silvery flecks in the grey. He might be Vulcan-like, but in another life I was a cat.

“Maybe I can borrow something for you to use,” he said, breaking eye-contact first. “We’ll see.”

*    *    *

Good news, my children and I love hotels. We were booked into the newly renovated hotel near the university that, I was told, supplied an in-room fridge, kettle, and coffee maker. It also provided a continental breakfast in the morning and free Internet access—if only I had my laptop. Best of all, from the kids’ point of view, it had a pool.

Going to the house wasn’t as helpful as Merrick had said. If Nadar had sifted through the clutter in the kids’ bedrooms or basement, I couldn’t tell. Nothing seemed to have been moved in my bedroom and my office was all open shelving. He would have been able to see everything I had without disturbing the dust. I couldn’t add anything to what they already knew.

After school, I picked up Hope and Boone and we went shopping with a government issued credit card. With Merrick looking over my shoulder, we shopped frugally for clothes and sundries. Then we visited the grocery store for lunchmeat, snacks, and drinks. Merrick stuck with us, which worried me. Another plainclothes officer hovered in the background. It was reassuring to know they were there, but scary to realize they felt the need to dog our heels. When we got to our room, Merrick said he’d return to take us out for dinner in an hour.

“This is so cool,” said Boone, bouncing from one bed to the other until I caught his attention and shook my head.

“It’s weird,” Hope commented. “Strange being in a hotel so close to home.”

“We should’ve got a place with a kitchen,” said Boone, now checking out the fridge. “If the government is paying for all this, does that mean we can eat this stuff? There’s pop, candy bars, nuts . . .”

“You can have a soft drink,” I said.

“But if we’re not paying for it?”

“Almost dinner, doofus,” Hope pointed out. “Do you want something, Mom?”

“I’m good. Maybe you guys would like to organize our new stuff. I’ve got to call your grandmother and update your father.”

“Grandma’s going to pitch a fit,” Boone observed. “If you like, I’ll tell her.”

It was a tempting offer. My son was right. My mother would pitch a fit. She’d find some reason why a strange man showing up dead in my living room was my fault. At the very least, she’d be generally angry because it happened. However, she’d never get angry around the kids.

“I’ll let you smooth things over after I give her the news,” I said. “But maybe I’ll call your father first.”

“Chicken,” squawked Hope, flapping two new long-sleeve t-shirts like wings. “I call the couch.”

The room came with the standard two queen-size beds plus a pullout couch. Everything was made up. There was also the requisite desk, bench, and armoire that hid the TV in its top half and had three drawers in the bottom.

I let the kids organize our purchases while I made my calls. Beds were argued over, groceries and clothes put away, new clothes donned in time for Merrick’s return.

Hope answered the door and let Merrick in. He brought the geeky guy with him. This was a good excuse to say good-bye to Mom who, as expected, blamed me for not having better locks on my door even though she never locked a door before bedtime.

“This is my colleague, Ezekiel Chan,” Merrick said, introducing the younger man. “He’s an information technology specialist, among other things.”

He was about Seth’s height, about six feet or 1.85 metres if you asked Seth. Medium build, he had the kind of body I associate with baseball players—built for speed but with broad shoulders and muscular arms. In other words, not as geeky as he first appeared.

“People call me Zeke, or E-Z,” he said, offering his hand first to me then to each of the kids.

“E-Z?” asked Boone.

“For E-Zekiel,” said Chan, grinning at my son. “Someone stuck me with that when I was about your age.” Then he turned to me. “I’ve got something for you, ma’am.”

He stepped into the room and went to the desk. He had a black leather backpack, which he placed on the chair and unpacked. Inside was a wide-screen laptop and wireless mouse. He set them up on the desk and sat down.

“I’m afraid I can’t return your laptop. It’s evidence. But I mirrored the hard drive after creating a forensic copy. All your docs, pics, and tunes are here. I was able to transfer your browser, email, and most of your other programs with your data.”