Inspector Green Mysteries 9-Book Bundle (199 page)

Green’s reply was cut short by the nurse, who stopped in front of a half open door and placed her finger to her lips. Green steeled himself for the worst, but when the nurse peeked inside, Riley was propped up in bed, a little bleary-eyed but alert. His skin was waxen pale, but except for the sutures that criss-crossed his face and the tubes and wires that snaked all around him, he looked almost normal. His right leg was in a massive, full-length cast suspended from an overhead pulley.

Sullivan, the father of two teenage boys, spoke first. His voice was soft. “Hi, Riley. I’m Brian Sullivan, and this is Mike Green. We’re detectives. How are you feeling?”

“Like I’ve been checked into the boards by Zdeno Chara.”

Sullivan laughed, and even Green understood the reference. Zdeno Chara was a six-foot-nine hockey legend who crushed forwards with a single nudge. The kid’s on the ball at least, Green thought with relief. He let Sullivan carry on.

Sullivan eased himself casually into the chair by the bed. “You’re looking better than yesterday, for sure.”

Trailing his
IV
tubing, Riley raised one hand to stroke his injured leg. “I know I banged up this pretty good, but I’ll be back on the ice. If I have to visit every doctor on the planet.”

“That’s the spirit. Do you remember what happened?”

Riley tried to shake his head, but winced. “Dad told me I totalled my Mustang.”

Sullivan nodded. “But there’s always another where it came from.”

“Probably not where that one came from. Not with Vic in jail.”

Green sat down gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Riley, Vic didn’t kill the social worker.”

Riley’s eyes filled. “But...but...”

“I know you think he did, but the evidence doesn’t point that way. We found the tools used and the place it happened. It wasn’t anywhere near Vic’s place.”

Riley grew even more pale. “Who?”

“We’ve arrested your Uncle Darren.”

“Uncle Darren!” Riley stared at them, his colour flooding back in. “That’s insane! Why would Uncle Darren kill that woman?”

“They got in an argument. She came to his house and confronted him—”

“About what?”

“About Lea. He lost his temper. It’s all at his house, Riley. The blood in the living room, the wheelbarrow he moved her in—”

“I can’t believe this! I know Uncle Darren’s got a temper, but...”

“He’s as good as admitted it.”

From the corner of his eye, Green saw the nurse step forward, as if preparing to intervene. Riley ignored her. “When did he do this? How could I not know? I live with him!”

“Last Friday morning. The social worker was last seen heading over to his house.”

“But that’s impossible. Friday morning he was—” Abruptly, Riley’s eyes bulged and all traces of colour fled his cheeks. He clamped his mouth shut.

“He was what?”

“Nothing.”

“You were going to say something.”

“I...I just couldn’t believe he would do it.” Above his head, the heart monitor began to race.

“I think it’s time—” began the nurse. Green leaned close.

“But you said it was impossible. Do you know something?”

“No! No! I didn’t mean that!” He squirmed in the bed as if trying to escape. The nurse leaped forward.

“Okay, that’s enough, you two. Time to go.” Green hesitated, watching Riley. The youth was ghostly pale, his breathing ragged and his face twisted in panic. Why panic? What was he hiding?

“Out!” the nurse thundered and yanked open the door.

Both detectives were silent as they made their way outside. The black clouds now blanketed the sky, and wind swirled debris across the parking lot. Back in the car, Sullivan turned on his cell and called Gibbs to tell him about Crystal’s messages. Gibbs was due to interview Crystal in-depth later that day and the more ammunition he had, the better. Green didn’t start the ignition but instead sat drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. He knew the Chief was waiting for him, but something far more important was at stake. His mind raced over and over Riley’s reaction, picking apart the nuances of his words.

What exactly had happened back there in Riley’s room? What had the boy started to say, and why had he refused to go on? Green sensed that the timing of his reaction was crucial. At first, Riley had been shocked to learn that Darren was the killer. Shocked and incredulous, but ready at least to entertain the possibility. Until...

Until he had learned the time of the murder. Only then had he said it was impossible. He’d blurted it out without thinking, as if he knew Darren couldn’t have done it at that time.

“Brian, have we double-checked Darren’s whereabouts on the Friday morning? Checked his work log or customers?”

Sullivan had been listening quietly to his phone, and now he cocked his head thoughtfully. “Watts and LeBlanc were on it. I’ll check with them. But Gibbs just told me one interesting piece of news from Ident. There is no trace of blood anywhere in the interior of Darren’s plumbing van.”

“Which means either he used some other vehicle to transport the body, or Riley’s right. He didn’t do it.” Green felt a shiver of excitement. “Riley must know Darren wasn’t at the house Friday morning. It’s the only explanation for what he said.”

“But if he knew Darren wasn’t there, why wouldn’t he say so? Why clam up?”

Green remembered the boy’s panic. “Because he realized that if he gave Darren an alibi for that morning, we’d start looking elsewhere.”

“And he didn’t want that?”

“No. I bet when he heard the time, he realized who the killer must be, and it was worse than his Uncle Darren.”

“Not necessarily,” Sullivan said, always the pragmatist.

Green made intuitive leaps, but Sullivan knew they had to look at every small step in between. “Maybe he just got scared about incriminating anyone else.”

“No, he was horrified. Who would horrify him that much? Who would he want to protect even more than his uncle?”

Sullivan’s eyes narrowed, and Green could see him methodically going over the same choices in his head. Weighing the possibilities and discarding them just as Green had done, until only one name remained.

“His father.”

“Bingo.”

“But we don’t even know if he was in Ottawa that morning.”

“Not yet we don’t, but he always stayed with Darren when he came up. And remember...” Green stabbed the air with a triumphant finger, “remember last Saturday, when we went looking for Riley at his uncle’s house. Darren said he and his father had just driven down to Gananoque that morning with some of the stuff. Which means he could have been in Ottawa Friday! We should call down to Gananoque and ask some discreet questions.”

The first fat raindrops splattered the windshield. Sullivan pulled out his notebook and began a list. “We’ll need his shoes—another search warrant for Jones.”

Green nodded. “And his vehicle. I know he drives a pickup, perfect for transporting a body.”

Sullivan paused with his pen poised. His broad face was creased in a frown. “It does explain Darren’s behaviour, why he’s playing hard to get. Leading us on and then dancing out of reach. He figures if there’s enough confusion, maybe both of them can stay in the clear. All the same...”

Green smacked his forehead. “I don’t know why I didn’t think of the father before. It was staring me in the face last Sunday, when I saw how committed he was to his kid’s dream.”

“But so were a lot of people.”

“But he spent years shaping this kid. Flooding his backyard, teaching him how to score. He even let himself be edged out by McIntyre, all for the sake of the kid’s future.”

Sullivan shook his head slowly, as if arguing against himself. “I don’t buy it. It doesn’t sit right. Ted was a good father, he put in a lot of time and yeah, he wanted his kid to go far, but so does every other parent on the competitive minor league circuit. If that was a motive for murder, there’d be a hell of a lot more bodies littering the sport.”

“But the man’s got the same O’Shaughnessy temper. You saw his face this morning. He looked on a mission to kill.” Green froze. “Holy shit, maybe he’s not done yet. Maybe he is on a mission to kill.”

“Who?”

“Vic McIntyre. Good thing McIntyre is still in lock-up.”

“He’s not. He got released on his own recognizance this morning.”

“Jesus!” Green started the car. “Call dispatch. We need to get over to McIntyre’s house right away!”

Twenty-One

 D
etective Bob Gibbs pressed “Print” and sat back at his desk with a feeling of satisfaction. The list of questions he’d prepared for Crystal’s interview was perfect. He didn’t expect trouble; the girl had seemed thoroughly shaken by her experience the day before, and he suspected she’d put up very little resistance once she heard her messages on Lea’s cell phone. Her own admission of guilt would be nice, but he was more interested in where she had bought the lethal marijuana and who had told her how to mix it. Someone else had to be behind the scheme, someone who had used her naïveté and her friendship with Lea to accomplish his ruthless ends. All signs pointed to the bullying, coercive Vic McIntyre, and Gibbs hoped that Crystal would be able to provide the missing link in the chain that had led to Lea’s death so they could nail the slimeball for good.

He took up the printed questions and was just starting down the hall to check the video set-up in the interview room when his phone rang. To his surprise, it was Crystal’s mother, sounding more subdued and concerned than he would have thought possible.

“She’s gone,” the woman said without preamble Gibbs’s heart sank. He’d sworn the girl was ready to talk. “A man came and picked her up.”

“What man?”

“I don’t know. Some older guy. He acted real friendly, but Crystal weren’t too happy to see him.”

“But she went with him?”

“Yeah. Not sure she had much choice. He whispered something in her ear that I couldn’t hear, and then he takes her by the arm and off they go. He was nicely dressed, and he didn’t look like a creep, that’s why I told Crystal to answer the door. I wasn’t dressed yet.”

“When was this?”

“About an hour ago. I wasn’t sure I should call, or if she was just taking off.”

“You did the right thing. Can you describe this man?”

“Short but built, like he works out. Sens baseball cap, red face.”

Gibbs’s suspicion began to crystallize. He felt sweat break out on his back, and the phone grew slippery in his hand. “Did you see if he had a vehicle?”

“Yeah, he did. Big, pricey
SUV
, black as the devil.”

Please God, Gibbs thought. The familiar finger of dread shot down his spine as he reached for his cell phone.

When Green rounded the corner into sight of McIntyre’s house, he felt a small relief. By then, rain was pelting the street, and the windshield wipers slapped a noisy rhythm through the sheets of rain. McIntyre’s house looked deserted. There was no
SUV
in the driveway.

“Looks like he’s not home,” he said. “With any luck, Ted O’Shaughnessy won’t know where else to look.”

“What’s that?” Sullivan asked.

Green followed his finger. There were only three vehicles parked on the street, and Sullivan was pointing to a vaguely familiar, rust-riddled white pick-up parked in front of McIntyre’s neighbour.

“Doesn’t look like it fits,” Sullivan added. The few cars in the driveways were late-model minivans or Japanese sedans with barely a speck of rust among them. “It could be a contractor or a gardener.”

Green drew up beside it. The cab was empty, but an open box of ammunition sat on the passenger’s seat. A chill shot through him. “Run the plate.”

Sullivan was just activating the mobile computer when the side door to McIntyre’s garage opened, and a man in a yellow rain slicker emerged. He glanced nervously around but didn’t notice the unmarked car, which was screened by the truck. He slipped down the path and opened the gate to the backyard. His hood was down, as if he was indifferent to the gusting rain. In that brief glance, Green recognized Ted O’Shaughnessy, carrying what looked like a hunting rifle.

"Jesus H.,” Green muttered.

“He’s armed.”

“Winchester 30-30, looks like. A lot of gun.”

“Call it in. I’m going to park out of sight until back-up arrives.” While Green parked the car, Sullivan spoke to the Communications Centre, and within minutes, the duty inspector and the Tactical Team supervisor were on the speaker phone.

“Jeez, Sully!” Inspector Ford exclaimed, once Sullivan had filled them in. “You boys are bad for my health. What the hell have you two stepped into this time?”

“Luckily, I don’t think the target is at home,” Green replied. “The suspect is lying in wait, probably in the backyard or possibly inside if he can gain access.”

“Is there an escape route through the back yard?”

“Only to other backyards, if you feel like vaulting a six-foot fence.”

“Okay, we’ve got the property on satellite,” said another voice Green recognized as the Tac supervisor. “Sit tight and watch the place till we arrive. If the target arrives, detain him.”

No kidding, thought Green, biting back a sarcastic retort. He was distracted by the ringing of his cell phone. He was tempted to ignore it, but saw it was Bob Gibbs.

“Trouble, sir,” the young detective burst out as soon as Green answered. “Crystal Adams, you know the—”

“What about her, Bob?”

“McIntyre paid her a visit this morning and took her off in his car.”

Green glanced at the house in dismay. “What time was this?”

“A-about an hour ago, sir.”

Green did a split second calculation. Crystal lived in a public housing project on the eastern edge of Alta Vista, but very close to Walkley Road. The drive from there to Hunt Club would only take fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty in this pouring rain. Plenty of time for McIntyre to get home, spirit the girl inside, and do god-knows-what before Ted O’Shaughnessy arrived.

He stared at the closed doors of the two-car garage. They had to check inside that garage!

“Bob, I don’t have time to explain. I’m going to pass this on to the Com Centre, and I want you to go straight up there and tell the duty inspector everything you know.”