Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (182 page)

The History button unfolded a long list of sites. The girl had been very busy indeed, prowling all over the web in the last two days. Green’s heart began to race as he read the names of the sites. Justin Wakefield, National Theatre School, the
NHL
Entry Draft, and at least half a dozen pages pertaining to one particular player—Riley O’Shaughnessy. He’d been the last thing she’d researched the night before she disappeared.

Eleven

 M
entally, Brian Sullivan could feel his feet dragging as he followed Green across the lawn to the school. The man who greeted them at the door wore a scowl on his thin, weaselly face which didn’t improve when Green thanked him for his help. The drizzle had stopped, leaving the air fresh and cool, but his bald dome still glistened with sweat. Sullivan suspected he knew the cause—harsh words from the top of the school board food chain, whom Green had called personally to obtain cooperation from the school.

“This is most improper, you know,” the guy said. Prusec, Green had called him, and Sullivan thought the name suited him. The priss relocked the doors behind them and led the way down the darkened hall. “That information is confidential, and his parents could have my head.”

“A student of yours has died under questionable circumstances, Mr. Prusec. I doubt very much any parent would want to object. Riley O’Shaughnessy has an image to maintain, don’t forget.”

Sullivan remained quiet, wrestling with mixed feelings. He was curious to meet the young star both his sons aspired to emulate, but unhappy at the prospect of grilling him about his role in Lea Kovacev’s death. But with Jenna Zukowski’s disappearance and Riley O’Shaughnessy’s name on her computer’s search history, he knew there was no longer a choice. Green was on a roll, and all Sullivan could do now was limit the media frenzy. Green’s idea of doing that was to do the field interview himself rather then involve more officers. That was his excuse anyway.

Prusec sat down at the computer in the main office and began to type. “This information is on every computer down at the Board, including the director of education’s.”

Sullivan smiled to himself. Green had said the officious prick was in major cover-your-ass mode, and he was certainly playing true to form.

“Possibly, but this way, if we need anything else like access to his student locker,” Green said blandly, “you’ll already be here.”

Prusec pursed his thin lips as he clicked through screens until he finally arrived at Riley’s file. “He lives with his uncle, has for the past two years that he’s been playing for the 67’s. Even so, he misses a great deal of school, but many elite athletes do.” Prusec arched his eye brows. “He manages to maintain a decent average despite that. Of course, he has a reduced timetable, and one of his classes is Outdoor Education, which he should excel at.”

Green remembered the cousin mentioned in the McIntyre noise complaint. “Does his uncle have any children at this school?”

Prusec pouted and scrawled something on a message slip. “This address is what I was told to give you, this is what you get. And should you need any further assistance from me, I’d appreciate it if you called me directly.”

He let them out the front door with a very audible click of the lock behind them. Green chuckled as he handed the paper to Sullivan. “Saunderson Avenue. You know where that is?”

Sullivan stared at the paper in dismay. Not only did he know the street, he knew the uncle. Darren O’Shaughnessy was a fellow hockey dad like himself, with a teenage son in the sport and a temper that had nearly had him barred from the games. Darren owned Waterworks Plumbing, and he drove a large muscle van with a logo of a smiling toilet on its sides and banners for the Ottawa Senators on every inch of bumper space. Some hockey parents didn’t even go in to watch the game when they saw that van in the parking lot, and a couple of young referees refused to officiate the games his son was in.

Sullivan had had only one run-in with the man, when then ten-year-old Sean was on a house team with Darren’s boy. Sean had been playing defence and Benny O’Shaughnessy right wing. Benny had been on a rush from behind his own net, but had been tripped into the boards by the other team’s forward. He’d been down on the ice only a couple of seconds before Darren had leaped over the boards and charged toward the players, screaming at Sean for not protecting his teammate by intercepting the other team’s forward. It had taken Sullivan and two other fathers to keep Darren from flattening Sean into the ice. There had been a lot of games in the years since then, and the boys had gone their separate ways, but Sullivan had never forgotten that raw rage. Why had he never made the connection between that prick and Riley O’Shaughnessy?

Darren’s van was visible in the driveway from a block away, and as Green drew his Subaru to a stop at the curb, Darren himself pulled his lumpy, shaven head out from under the hood. He squinted at them a moment then lumbered down the drive, wiping his grease-coated hands on his jeans. The years had not been good to Darren. He’d put on at least forty pounds, all of it in a beer gut, and his face was the colour of raw steak. He grinned when he recognized Sullivan and stuck out his hand.

“Sully! How’s it going, man?” Sullivan sensed Green’s surprise as he introduced the two, but Darren pumped his hand cheerfully. “Good to see you, Sully. I see your boys are doing great. Your older one might be a future
NHL
er yet.”

“How is your boy doing?”

Darren shrugged. “Ben’s coming along. He could be really good if he put his mind to it, but you know how it is with teenagers. Girls, parties... Now what can I do you for, fellas?”

Sullivan studied him closely. Darren had always been the friendliest, most outgoing guy as long as his son wasn’t on the ice. The kind of guy to drive six kids all over hell’s half acre to tournaments or lend a hand fixing your deck. Sullivan could see no sign of guardedness or concern on his face, just genuine delight, which in itself was strange. Most people show a bit of both when two cops show up at their door.

“We’d like a word with Riley, Darren,” Sullivan said. “Is he here?”

Darren’s eyebrows shot up in astonishment. “Riley? No, he went back to Gananoque for the weekend. He and his dad drove down this morning with some of his stuff.” Now wariness hooded his eyes. “Why? Something wrong?”

“We just need to talk to him.”

Darren’s face hardened, giving a glimpse of the old hockey dad. An instant later, the anger was gone and he was all cooperation again. “He’ll be back tomorrow night, in time for school Monday. Is that soon enough?”

“That’ll be fine,” Green interjected before Sullivan could open his mouth. “Brian’s been telling me all about your nephew. He has a big day coming up, eh?”

Darren grinned, but not before Sullivan caught the wary flicker in his eyes. He wants to know where the hell we’re going with this, he thought.

“The kid’s a phenom,” he said. “Maybe even the next Great One.”

Green leaned casually against the side of the car. “Are you all going down to Ohio for the draft?”

“I wish,” said Darren, shaking his head. “But I’ve got a business to run. Too bad it’s this year. Next year the draft’s in Ottawa. My brother Ted—that’s Riley’s dad—will be driving him. It’s about a twelve hour drive to Columbus. I was thinking of sending Ben. He’s playing for the Nepean Raiders now, not in Riley’s league, but he’s got good potential. I was thinking I’d send him along for the ride, just for inspiration, you know?”

“Don Cherry says it’s better for the draft hopefuls not to go,” Green said. “Too hard on the nerves.”

Sullivan nearly choked on his own laughter. Green might not know the hockey commentator from Wayne Gretzky, but he’d obviously done his homework and was pulling off a pretty good imitation of a guy who knew what he was talking about.

Darren snorted. “Cherry’s full of shit. Greatest day in the kids’ lives! And Riley will get picked, don’t you worry. My brother says both the Flyers and the Oilers are fighting over him.”

“I bet it’s been pretty exciting for your son to have him around for the past couple of years.”

“Yeah, well, you know...” Darren shifted and wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. “The kid’s been really busy. Practices and games and conditioning and all this personal development stuff. His agent keeps him pretty tied up. This is the first weekend Riley’s had off all year. Not that I’m complaining. The man’s done wonders with him.”

Sullivan stepped in to rescue Green, who was sure to be at the end of his hockey expertise by now. “Vic McIntyre? I’ve heard stuff about that guy. Wild parties, bully tactics...”

“That’s bullshit, man. The hockey establishment hates him because he drives a hard bargain. But the guy gets results. Sure, he rides the kids hard, so he lets them cut loose sometimes too. Whatever he does, it worked for Riley. He always had talent, but this year he’s really bulked up, and mentally he’s tougher too.”

“Is that in an agent’s job description?” Green asked casually. “I don’t know much about the business, but it seems to me that’s a coach’s job.”

“Just protecting his investment. Vic’s been in all aspects of the business, and he knows what’s needed.” Darren’s eyes narrowed as he glanced from one detective to the other. “Look, is this about Riley or Vic McIntyre? Because I know Vic’s had a little trouble with you guys before, and I don’t want shit rubbing off on Riley. The kid’s put his heart and soul into the game.”

Sullivan shrugged noncommitally. Let the man think what he wanted. “At this stage, Darren, we’re just checking into things.” Sullivan flicked his card out of his pocket and handed it to Darren. “Have Riley or his dad give me a call some time when they’re back, okay?”

“Yeah, sure. Monday good?”

“Monday’s fine.” Sullivan climbed into the car with a casual wave.

Darren was still standing at the curb watching them as they pulled away. “Do you think it worked?” Green asked.

Sullivan shook his head. “With everything this family has at stake, I doubt it. I think Darren will be on the phone to his brother before we even round the corner.”

Green nodded. He had that faraway look in his eyes that Sullivan recognized all too well. The rest of his Saturday was going to be shot; they were going to Gananoque. He made a last ditch effort to salvage it.

“I don’t think he knew Lea Kovacev was Riley’s girlfriend, though. He seemed to have no idea what we were there for. And trust me, he’s not that good an actor. This guy wears everything on his face.”

“Perhaps,” Green said. “But the minute he tells Riley the cops were asking after him, Riley’s going to know why.”

“If
he was Lea’s boyfriend.”

Green inclined his head. “True. If.”

Before the two detectives were even halfway back to the station, Sullivan’s phone rang. Wallington was on the line. The roar and hiss in the background made it hard to hear him.

“I’m at Hog’s Back,” he shouted. “I’ve got the girl who sold Lea the ice cream, and she has a story I thought you might like to hear. Do you want me to bring her to the station?”

Sullivan made a quick calculation. He was just approaching Riverside Drive; a quick detour west along the river would bring him to Hog’s Back. “Just hang on to her. I’ll be there in a jiff.”

The “girl” turned out to be a dumpy, middle-aged woman with frizzy orange hair and a pair of missile tits you could impale a moose on. Someone should have told her pointy bras went out with Marilyn Monroe. According to her name tag, she was Phyllis. She was working behind the counter at the Pagoda, where a line-up had begun to form. She ignored the loud protests when she slapped the “closed” sign on the counter and stepped outside to talk to the detectives.

She talked at breakneck speed. “I don’t got much time, because I’m not supposed to close like that, but this is important, eh? I thought I recognized that girl when I saw her picture in the paper last week, but people can look so different, eh? And it was dark, and even with the lighting, there’s a glare. But when the detective asked me if I sold anyone like her an ice cream, well, then I was sure, eh? It was Monday night, you said?”

“Well, was it?” Green asked drily.

“Nights are all the same to me, eh? So I’ll take your word for it. Anyways it was late, I was closing, and there weren’t too many people in the park. This girl and her boyfriend came up and asked me for ice cream, and I said I’d already cashed out, and she begged me. They were such a cute couple, they looked so lovey-dovey—hard to believe that still happens to today’s kids, or to anybody for that matter. I mean, before my Billy took up with Rufus, he’d hardly ever touch me—well, maybe that was the reason. But these two had their arms around each other’s necks and their lips all over the place. I hardly wanted to look. She must have given him fifty kisses while they were waiting. Anyways, she just wouldn’t take no for an answer, she was that excited and determined. In the end, I opened up the freezer and gave them two. No charge. It wasn’t worth my time to open up the cash again. But if the company ever found out...”

For the first time, she stopped for breath long enough for Sullivan to get a word in. Beside him, Wallington was grinning. Obviously the woman was just as entertaining the second time around.

“Did you get a good look at the boyfriend?”

“Well, he was quieter. It was her did all the talking. But he was a dishy one, tall, dark and handsome like in the fairytales.”

“Do you mean dark-skinned?”

“Oh, no, he was white. Just dark-haired. Curly. She kept ruffling it and laughing.”

“How long was the hair?”

“Not down in his collar or anything. He was neat looking. The shoulders on him—whew!” Phyllis fanned herself.

Painstakingly, Sullivan extracted a description from her, and with each detail, his heart grew heavier. The picture she painted fit Riley O’Shaughnessy to a T. Green, however, had been oddly silent, and once Sullivan had arranged for her to view a photo line-up later in the day, Green stepped quietly into the breach.

“Did anything about the girl’s behaviour strike you as odd?”