Beautiful Lie the Dead (14 page)

Green eyed him thoughtfully. The man was gaunt and desperate, and his whole body shook with fear and cold. Green suspected he hadn't eaten or slept in days. He turned to Doyle.

“Why don't they warm up in your car while—”

“I don't want to warm up in the car! I want to see her!”

Green nodded. “Let me see what I can find out. Meanwhile, you could both use warmth and a cup of hot tea.”

“Don't patronize me!”

Elena placed a slim gloved hand on her son's arm. “Brandon, the officer is right. Let's see what he can find out.”

With a nod towards Doyle, Green turned to head towards the tent. At the edge of the cordon he spoke to the log officer. “Can you get Cunningham out here?”

“Want a peek, Mike?” came Cunningham's shout from inside the tent. “Just watch your feet.”

After signing in, Green ducked under the yellow tape and stepped carefully on the white paper squares laid down to make a path. Inside the tent, two Ident officers were bent over the snow, digging with trowels. On the ground beside them sat an evidence bin containing a purse, a boot, and a red woollen beret, each in its own plastic bag. Other bags contained assorted small items. Green distinguished a lipstick, keys, scraps of paper, a map, a pack of Dentine and two ballpoint pens, probably all from the purse.

Beside the bin, a grotesque shape was beginning to emerge from the snow. The woman was lying on her back with her arms and legs flung up in the air and her neck twisted to one side. One arm was bent in the middle as if broken, and her coat was torn. Her hair, matted dark red with blood, was splayed out over her face, obscuring her features. MacPhail was easing the hair away from the wound at her temple, uncovering eyes opaque with horror.

Green backed away from the sight. He had always hated that first instant when he stared down death. Felt the ugliness and horror of that last moment of life. He turned instead and gestured to the bin.

“Can I show the purse and hat to the family?”

MacPhail didn't even look up. “Be my guest.”

Green lifted both evidence bags gingerly and retraced his steps. As he ducked back under the tape, Brandon Longstreet flung open Doyle's car door and came across the street. He took one look at the bags.

“That's not her purse. Nor her hat. I've never seen either before.”

“Could she have changed—”

“No, it's not even her style!” He shoved Green aside and rushed forward, ducking under the tape before anyone could stop him. He froze at the entrance to the tent, staring.

“That's not her! It's not her!” He teetered, turned bloodless, and began to laugh.

TEN

G
reen arrived home at seven thirty to find Hannah's backpack on the floor by the front door, stuffed to overflowing. The house was warm, humid and redolent of garlic and basil. He followed the sound of laughter into the kitchen, where a pot of pasta bubbled on the stove. The two women in his life were sharing a bottle of Chianti while they chopped peppers and tomatoes into a salad bowl. From their flushed cheeks, he judged they were well ahead of him, so he kissed them both and poured himself a glass.

“What's the occasion?”

“My last night before the descent into hell,” his daughter said.

He paused to consider the evidence. Hannah's favourite meal and her backpack by the door. “You've booked a ticket to Vancouver.”

“The great detective scores again,” Hannah said. “So don't get too cosy with that wine. My flight's at ten p.m.”

Sharon had been eyeing him with concern. As she handed him a green pepper slice, she touched his arm. “You look tired.”

“It's been quite a day.” He didn't want to talk about Jules's vanishing act or the ongoing mystery of the poor dead Jane Doe. He wanted to retreat to the sanctity of his cave, draw his family close and revel in their company for the short time until Hannah left. But at that moment Tony came bounding in with his usual shriek.

“Daddy!” His eyes were shining. “You were on TV! Where they found that body! Is that Meredith Kennedy, Daddy? Did they find her?”

Green hugged him, but a little pain crept into the warmth that he always felt when he held his son. Even here, in his kitchen with the pesto pasta cooking and the Chianti flowing, he could not escape. The fate of Meredith Kennedy was on everyone's mind, even his five-year-old son's.

“It doesn't look like it, buddy,” he replied.

“It's not?” It was Hannah who spoke, half rising from her chair in surprise.

He shook his head. “This woman is older. We're working on identifying her, but it looks unrelated.”

“But where's Meredith?” Tony persisted.

“I don't know, son. It's still a mystery. We'll just have to keep looking for her. Now...” He set down his wine glass. “I'm going upstairs to wash up and then you and I are going to set the table!”

In his bedroom, he stripped off his work clothes and turned on the shower as hot as he could bear, trying to scrub the encounter with death from his mind. He knew he wouldn't succeed but as always, he had to try. When he emerged from the bathroom, he pulled on a clean sweatshirt and jeans, and was just combing his damp hair when he heard a soft tap at the bedroom door. He opened it to find Hannah leaning on the doorframe. She averted her gaze.

“You got a minute? I mean, before the Energizer bunny blows in here?”

Green didn't laugh, although the image was apt. There was very little private talk when Tony was awake. He stepped aside to let her pass. She perched on the edge of the bed and plucked dog hairs from the duvet.

“I should have told you about this ages ago.”

His heart spiked as his fears ran wild. She was never coming back, she'd applied to the University of British Columbia... He held his tongue with an effort.

“I kept thinking, well, I don't really know anything, it's not like I saw where she was going. You must have found out more details since—”

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?”

“I think I saw Meredith Kennedy. No, I know I—”

“When?”

He must have snapped, because she shot him a sharp look.

“Monday night. I mean, it was before she was really missing—”

“When Monday night?”

“Must have been about eight thirty? I was coming home on the Number 2, and—”

“What were you doing on the Number 2?”

“I like it, okay?” Her voice took on an edge. “I was at the Rideau Centre, just hanging out with some friends, shopping and stuff. It was in that snowstorm, so all the transitway buses were taking forever anyway. She sat right across from me.”

“Why are you sure it was Meredith?”

“She had red hair and a red coat exactly like the one on the news.”

His interest stirred. “Where did she get on?”

“I'm pretty sure it was Bank Street. I've been trying to recreate it, but the bus was crowded. The thing is, Mike, she was upset. That's why I paid attention. She seemed stressed and then she got this phone call that really freaked her out. I figured she was talking to her fiancé.”

He tried to recall what they had learned about Meredith's last movements. She'd arrived on the bus from Montreal shortly after eight p.m., so it appeared that she had travelled up Bank Street and caught the Number 2 west, towards her home. She had phoned her friend Jessica at 5:45, presumably just before getting on the bus in Montreal, but there had been no known word or phone contact after that. Certainly Brandon Longstreet had mentioned no call at 8:30. Green reminded himself to check the status of the phone records in the morning.

“What makes you think it was her fiancé? Did you hear a name?”

Hannah shook her head. “Whoever it was, they phoned
her,
and she said she didn't want to talk to them. She said they just wanted to ruin everything and how could they do this to her?”

Green felt a rush of excitement at this new twist.
Ruin
everything.
A pretty strong sentiment, strong enough perhaps for her to drop her wedding plans and disappear for awhile to think things out? Was the perfect Brandon Longstreet up to something after all?

“Did you see where she got off?”

“Just before my stop. Roosevelt, maybe?”

Green pictured the intersection. There were no major bus transfers at that corner, nor was it anywhere near Meredith's home, which was about two kilometres farther west. “Do you recall what direction she walked?”

“She was just standing there looking up and down, like she had no idea where she got off. Just that she had to get off.”

Green frowned. “Why?”

Hannah shrugged. “She just said ‘No, don't!' and she got off the bus.” She looked puzzled and worried as she studied his face. “This is important, isn't it. Fuck. I should have told you earlier. It's just I didn't really know what it meant, and I was thinking about Mom...”

He took her hands in his. “It could be important, yes. It could mean she had reason to drop out of sight.” He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, sweetheart. This could be the best news we've had in days.”

* * *

Work had always been therapeutic for Green, and nothing gave him a greater adrenaline shot than a good mystery. When he woke up the next morning, he barely had time to dwell on Hannah's absence, because he intended to get an early start on his long to-do list for the day.

First on his list when he arrived at the office was to check for updates on the dead woman. Ident had little to report except that there had been nothing in the contents of her purse to hint at her identity. Suspicious in itself, Green thought, although the wallet and the IDs could have been stolen by a later passerby. To rule that out, Green really had to talk to the man who'd discovered the body. Neither Bob Gibbs nor Sue Peters were at their desks yet, however, so Green moved on to his next task—assigning a lead investigator to the Jane Doe case.

A week before Christmas, the major crimes unit was short-staffed and in considerable disarray. The head of the unit, Staff Sergeant Brian Sullivan, was still on sick leave and refusing to clarify whether he intended to return to his post, accept a less stressful assignment, or take early retirement. Despite Superintendent Devine's badgering, Green did not intend to pressure him. He wanted his best friend back on the job he did so well, and he suspected that beneath the bitterness and the self-doubt, Sullivan missed the action. But he'd had the scare of his life, as had his wife. Mary was dead set against his return, and she was a force. If Brian wanted his marriage to survive, he might have to make a choice.

The staff sergeant who was attempting to fill Sullivan's shoes was a thoroughly modern bureaucrat who watched the clock, followed procedure to the letter, and took all the vacation and sick leave he was entitled to. This year it meant a two-week holiday to Disney World with his family over the Christmas break. He had flown out the day after Meredith Kennedy was reported missing.

On paper, the sergeant on duty took over his essential responsibilities, but in practice Green had merely stepped in to fill the gaps. That morning as he consulted the staff roster, he saw that his newest, greenest sergeant was on duty, Sergeant Marie Claire Levesque.

Levesque was not only green but she was cocky, stubborn and disinclined to appreciate Green's meddling. With this case, Green intended to meddle. So far there was nothing tangible to tie Meredith Kennedy to the dead Jane Doe except the location of her body less than two blocks from the Longstreet home. Both Elena and Brandon Longstreet swore they didn't recognize the woman, but with Adam Jules linked to Meredith's disappearance in some mysterious way, Green intended to keep a close eye on both cases.

Green had passed Levesque at her desk when he came in and knew she was just gearing up for the morning's briefings. When he summoned her to his office, he saw a flicker of annoyance cross her brow. She left her computer with reluctance, picked up her notebook and strolled through the unit room. As always, she moved with the fluid grace of a panther, her long blonde ponytail swishing down her back. All eyes, male and female alike, followed her across the room. She leaned against his doorframe and cocked her eyebrow, sending a jolt of electricity through him. Studiously ignoring his body, he invited her to sit.

“The Jane Doe in Rockcliffe—” he began.

She perked up, her pout vanishing. “You want me to work it?”

“If it comes to that, yes. The post is being done this morning at ten a.m. and I'd like you to attend. Ident will be there too, of course, and if Dr. MacPhail rules it suspicious, you'll be lead.”

She did nothing to hide her delight as she flipped open her notebook. “What do we have so far?”

He filled her in on the few known details. “Detective Gibbs and Peters are following up on the snowplow operator. They should be coming in shortly.”

She looked up. “They'll be reporting to me, sir?”

He hesitated. “You'll be at the autopsy. I'll keep you informed.”

Seeing an incipient frown again, he held up his hand. “There are coordination issues here, Marie Claire, between this case and the Meredith Kennedy case, and between us and MisPers.”

Fortunately wisdom won out over petulance, and she rose without complaint, slipping her notebook into her pocket. “We'll all keep each other informed.”

Progress, he thought after she'd gone. Next on his to-do list, Sergeant Li. He reached the MisPers sergeant at his desk. “Any word from Bell Canada on Meredith Kennedy's phone records?”

“Oh!” Li sounded flustered. “They were supposed to fax them. I'll check.”

“If they've arrived, bring them over to my office. There's an interesting call I want to check. Anything else new?”

“Oh!” said Li again. Green wondered if the man had been asleep. “That reminds me! Whelan tracked down that Bay purchase which was charged to Meredith's debit card the day after she disappeared. It was made at the Bay in the St. Laurent Shopping Centre.”