Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (140 page)

“Or he may have stayed in the Maritimes,” Green said.“Close enough to drop in to a Halifax bar for a drink now andthen. Did you get a photograph of him?”

“Ulrich has to check that with his superiors as well, sir.”

Green sighed. “I may have to have a little chat with his superiors myself.” Or perhaps drag out our own big guns.Barbara Devine. He almost laughed aloud at the prospect of Devine nose to nose with some ass-covering military mandarin. “What about the platoon commander, Hamm?”

“That’s the one piece of good news, sir. Lieutenant Colonel Hamm he is now, and he’s on the staff of the general in command of the Royal Canadians. Posted...and this is the exciting thing...”

Green waited. He knew the answer, because he knew where the Royal Canadian Regiment was based, but this time he didn’t want to deprive Gibbs of his grand moment.

Gibbs stabbed his notebook. “In Petawawa.”

Bingo, Green thought. The web of clues was closing. He wasn’t sure who would ultimately be trapped inside, but the excitement of the chase gripped him. He glanced at his watch. It was almost four o’clock.

“Okay!” he exclaimed, flicking on his computer. “Now get out of here and let me clear up some of my paperwork. Because tomorrow morning, you and I are going to Petawawa.”

Gibbs’s face fell. “Oh. Well, I—I...”

“It’s the obvious next step, Bob. Don’t worry, it’s your case.It’s just that I know the questions to ask this guy.”

“That’s not it, sir. It—it’s just... Sue’s already gone. I sent her up there this morning, on Staff Sergeant Larocque’s recommendation.”

Instinctively, Green recoiled in horror. He took a deep breath to quell it. Sue Peters may be blunt with no feeling for diplomacy or subtext, but she had proved herself to be bright and creative, and much of the progress in the investigation to date had been due to her. Green was always lecturing his men on using lateral thinking skills rather than doggedly trackingone lead after another. Whatever Peters lacked in subtlety, she sure as hell knew how to think.

Yet no amount of creative thinking would keep an inexperienced, over-enthusiastic rookie from blundering into trouble in the minefield of military culture. He allowed his dismay to focus on that.

“Without you?”

“No, sir. I mean yes, sir. I thought I should stay at the office to...” Gibbs paused as if to regroup. “I mean, to stay on top of Ulrich and to coordinate the other avenues of inquiry. That’s what the Staff Sergeant said. But Sue really wanted to go. She’d uncovered the lead about the bus trip, and she thought she should follow through right away.”

“But Bob—by herself?” he said incredulously. The more he thought about the fiasco, the angrier he became. Peters was going to interview Hamm without half the background she needed to uncover his involvement, and they were only going to get one clear shot at the man. Once Hamm realized what they were probing for, the barriers would go up so high he’d be invisible.

“N-no, sir. I sent Constable Weiss from General Assignment with her.”

A beginner, Green thought.
Noch besser.
Even better. “Who the hell is Constable Weiss?”

“Jeff Weiss. H...he’s been with the case from the beginning,sir. He asked his sergeant to be assigned. I think he’s keen to job shadow Major Crimes.”

The name rang a faint, unpleasant bell. “Have I met this Constable Weiss before?”

“Yes. Well—maybe. He was down at the aqueduct the first morning, helping with the search of the area, sir. Tall guy, blue eyes and blond hair? Works out.”

Green’s mind rifled through his memory until it came to rest with a jolt on a face he’d barely registered at the time. It was the blue eyes he remembered. Intelligent, focussed, but cocky as hell. Fuck, he thought, just what we need, a zealous, blundering rookie detective, paired up with an entry-level officer with zero investigative skills but an ego the size of Lake Superior. Gibbs was tugging at his tie as if in a vain effort to get more air. He cast Green a pleading look.

“His sergeant says he was an experienced and level-headed street cop, sir.” Gibbs was saved from further wrath by the sharp buzzing of Green’s phone.

“Constable Weiss calling for Detective Gibbs,” the clerk said. “He says it’s urgent.”

Green flipped on the speaker phone and told her to put him through. Constable Weiss’s voice, when it filled the tiny alcove office, sounded neither experienced nor level-headed.

“Sir, it’s Sue. Detective Peters. Something terrible’s happened!”

THIRTEEN

 S
ue Peters had been awake half the night planning her trip to Petawawa. She knew the army type inside out—she’d grown up with them—and she planned to walk a very finely balanced tightrope between backslapping like one of the boys and allowing a peek at the merchandise. She knew she had to put in an official appearance with the local Ontario Provincial Police detachment and even with the military police on the base, but she didn’t expect to learn a thing about Patricia Ross’s adventures from them. She doubted the woman would even have attempted to go through official channels.

She intended to hit the bars in the cheapest part of town— if there was such a thing in a town as small as Petawawa— where the boys from the base would go for their entertainment. Where they would feel most free to talk. And where she was sure Patricia, being no stranger to the rougher side of life, would have gone to ask her questions. Even if she hadn’t, her arrival in town should have sparked the rumour mill. This was a small military town; drop a blonde under fifty into the mix, and surely the bars would be humming.

She had to admit that she was really looking forward to the assignment. Then in the morning Gibbsie had ratcheted up the excitement by telling her that one of her interview targets was a hotshot lieutenant colonel named Richard Hamm— Dick in the officer’s mess, no doubt, and Dickie in bed—who had been Oliver’s platoon commander back in Yugoslavia. She was supposed to find out if Patricia had been to see him, and if so, why. Now she was doubly glad she’d decided to show a little cleavage beneath her hot pink suit.

But then Gibbsie and the Staff Sergeant had assigned Mr. Steroids himself to be her bodyguard. A cocky prick who thought he was God’s gift, and who would scare off every redblooded soldier she tried to cosy up to. At least he had the sense not to wear his body armour and police belt, which would be guaranteed to shut the gossip line down. He was wearing instead a grey sports jacket over a conservative blue shirt, but he tucked his tie into his pocket the minute they left the staff sergeant’s office. Without it, even she had to admit he made a nice package, and by the time they reached the parking lot, she had thought of a use for him. Two could play the bar flirtation game, for twice the info.

She insisted on driving, which meant she had to endure two hours of him staring down her blouse. In your dreams, Constable. I’ve got a colonel to see.

Protocol had required that the military police and Colonel Hamm be notified in advance of their visit, but Larocque had managed to be as vague as possible. Luckily, Dickie Hamm had decided they posed no threat, because he’d invited them to meet him out at his house. Fewer distractions there, he explained.

He lived off the base on Albert Street, in a bungalow overlooking the southern bank of the Petawawa River. The directions had seemed idiot proof, but with Steroids navigating, they managed to tour most of the south side of town before stumbling across the address. The fieldstone bungalow was protected by a hedge so perfectly trimmed that Peters wondered if he used a laser beam. There was no sign of the truckload of military police she’d been expecting, and instead a brand-new
BMW
sports van in spit-polished black sat alone in the drive. Tucked into the side yard on a flatbed trailer was a classic jewel-green
MG
.

Peters pulled their puke-brown Malibu in behind and was just climbing out when the front door swung open and a tall, impossibly fit-looking man strode out. He was a perfect match to the hedge and the cars. Razor-trimmed white hair, wraparound black sunglasses, and a jeans and golf shirt combo that would feed the average private’s family for a month.

And the sonofabitch was heading straight for Steroids, hand outstretched and white teeth gleaming.

“Detective Peters? Dick Hamm. No trouble finding the place?”

She hustled around the car to intercept him. “I’m Detective Peters, this is Constable Weiss.” She grabbed his hand before he could snatch it back. Luckily the man was quick on the draw—you don’t make colonel without understanding buttered bread—and he enveloped her hand in a cool, crushing grip.

“I’ve got coffee on,” he said, striding towards the house. “It’s warm enough to sit on the deck, and the blackflies aren’t out yet, so we’re in luck. We have to catch these rare moments of habitable Canadian weather while we can.”

When they were settled on the deck, which perched on a bluff above a bend in the river, with a pot of fabulous coffee on the table between them, Dickie Hamm removed his sunglasses and turned the full force of his ice blue eyes upon her.

“Now, how can I help you, Detective Peters? I understand this is a murder inquiry?”

Peters reached into her briefcase and withdrew the two photos of Patricia Ross taken at the autopsy. She laid them side by side on the coffee table and opened her notebook. Hamm looked at them, his face unreadable.

“Do you recognize this woman?”

“No. Is she the victim?”

“Take your time, Colonel. Have you ever seen this woman?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Not recently?”

He shook his head.

“How about years ago. In Halifax.” She paused in her note-taking to watch him closely, but he gave absolutely nothing away. But then, you don’t make colonel by letting the enemy read your mind either.

“Halifax,” he said after a moment’s thought. “That was some time ago. I doubt I’d even remember who I met then.”

“When were you there, sir?”

He made a show of thinking. “I’ve been there three times, in fact. I did a stint as instructor at Gagetown and visited Nova Scotia on leave. That would have been between June and October 1997. I gave a talk at a joint forces peacekeeping conference in May of 2000. And I was there again briefly on a flight overseas last year.”

“How about 1996?”

“I was in Edmonton in 1996, but I may have made a few trips in and out on my way overseas. I travelled a great deal in that time. What time period were you thinking of?”

“We have a witness who places you in Halifax on April 9, 1996.” It was a bluff, but Peters figured it was worth a try. Witnesses could be wrong, after all. Hamm raised an eyebrow and fixed his ice blue eyes on her like he could stare right through her. She stared back, hoping her poker face was as good as his. Steroids, luckily, kept his mouth shut.

“I have no recollection of being in Halifax in April 1996.”

No recollection, she thought. Spoken like someone who’d been coached by a lawyer. “Do you know a woman named Patricia Ross? Also known as Patti Oliver?”

“The victim?”

Peters said nothing.

“Neither name is familiar.”

“She was Daniel Oliver’s fiancée. You do remember him, I hope.”

The icy stare softened, and his gaze shifted to the river. “Of course I do. Danny was an exemplary soldier, and his death was a tragedy.”

“Try murder.”

His lips thinned. “I understood it was unintentional. Too much drink all around.”

“Maybe not. How did you hear about it?”

He flicked his gaze back to her. “The army is rather like the police force, I imagine. When death strikes one of our own, the news travels across the continent. All the way to Edmonton in my case.”

“But who told you?”

“One of the other platoon leaders from that mission. Soldiers talk, you know, about who’s doing what. Who’s encountered trouble and who got promoted. I heard Oliver was in trouble, so I kept an ear to the ground.”

“Did you contact him?”

“No.” He looked back at the river. Neat trick, she thought. Commune with nature, look regretful, and avoid my eyes all in one shot. “Maybe I should have.”

Peters studied her notes, taking mental stock. So far, it was the colonel three, herself zip. She ploughed ahead. “On Monday of last week, Patricia Ross came up to Petawawa to speak to you. Do you recall that meeting?”

Dickhead laughed. “You must think me a fool, Detective. You show me a picture of the dead woman and ask if I’ve ever met a Patricia Ross, and despite my professed ignorance of both, you ask if I met her last week!”

Peters could feel her face flame. She tugged at her hot pink skirt furiously to get it further down her thighs. Mr. Steroids leaned in, as if threatening to come to her rescue.

“I don’t think you’re a fool, Colonel, and your answers were duly recorded. But people lie to the police all the time, sir. We have information that she travelled to Petawawa on the one o’clock bus to meet with you.”

“Well then, she never made it here. I apologize for sounding rude, Detective Peters. I appreciate that plenty of people lie to the police, but I give you my word as an officer that I did not meet with her.”

How fucking quaint, she thought, scrambling to rescue her line of questioning. “Do you have any idea why she might have been trying to meet with you?”

“Absolutely none. Not at this late date, anyway. Back when Danny died, she might have wanted to know about his tour overseas under my command. Which as I said had been outstanding. She might have derived comfort from it had she asked me. I personally promoted him to master corporal so that he could lead his section.”

“Why didn’t you tell her anyway, even before she asked?”

“I didn’t know she existed. I did write Danny’s parents.” He began to collect coffee cups onto a stainless steel stray, lining up the spoons along the edge like a drill parade. “I hope this hasn’t proved to be a complete waste of time,” he said. “I’d feel badly if Danny’s fiancée was trying to find out information about him, and I was unavailable to help.”

“Where were you between the hours of one and six p.m. on Monday April 17th?”