Raw Bone (36 page)

“Well, he was your friend and teammate and she was your sister—I think that makes it your business,” Aziz said.

“Look, you do remember that I, we, her remaining family, are victims of David Nicholson?”

“So tell me why a man like Knox would tolerate an assistant coach like Nicholson. Any thoughts on that, Mr. Grant?”

“I want to call my lawyer.”

“Actually, we’re done with you,” Aziz said. “I think we’ve got what we need.”

“Michael, Montile, follow Grant,” MacNeice said when Aziz and Williams returned to the cubicle. See where he goes. If he heads to Mercy or over to Knox’s place, stay well back, but when he leaves, let him know you’re there—be subtle but obvious.”

Grant travelled east in his van, catching the lights on Main. At Sherman, he suddenly peeled across three lanes to head north, doubling back on King all the way to Dundas, where he parked in the grocery shop’s lot. He got out of his van and checked to make sure the store had been locked up, before he walked up the street to his home. It was 7:14 p.m.

Vertesi called MacNeice. “Either he made us right away, or he called from the van and found out Knox wasn’t home. Do you want us to stay near and see if he has any visitors or decides to head out again?”

“Yes, but out of sight. This is a bit of a slow cooker, but it is cooking.”

When he hung up, MacNeice ordered an unmarked car to sit overnight outside Knox’s bungalow in the east end, with instructions that he be called if Knox left, and then requested a search warrant for Knox’s office and house. Saying good night to Aziz, he left to head home, taking the stairs two at a time, a first since the fire.

He didn’t know how long the phone had been ringing, but when he swung his arm over to answer it, he was certain he’d just fallen asleep. He put the phone to his ear.

“Mac?” It was Aziz.

He sat up in bed and saw the time. It was 7:39 a.m. He’d slept through the night. “Yes.”

“I’m in a cab coming to you. Grant’s on the move. He came out of his house twenty-five minutes ago, and looked around before walking quickly to the store, where he got into the van. He’s heading toward Dundurn, and Williams and Vertesi say he hasn’t spotted them trailing him.”

“I’ll be ready,” MacNeice said. He threw some water on his face and quickly got dressed, and then the phone rang again. It was Vertesi.

“You were right about Grant, Mac. He’s just pulled up in front of Mercy and went in through the gym doors at the back. We’ve got a sightline to the van, the front door and the side of the building. What’s the plan?”

MacNeice could hear Aziz’s cab labouring up the hill. He didn’t believe Knox would have the second grenade at the school, but he didn’t want to find out with another explosion.

“Stay put and out of sight. If Grant bolts, stick with him. Aziz and I are on our way.” Twelve minutes later, MacNeice pulled up behind Vertesi and Williams’s car on a side street near the school, and they all settled in to keep watch. By 8:45, most of the students were inside, and the stragglers were either jogging to the front doors, or standing about on the sidewalk, smoking cigarettes, presumably waiting to hear the bell.

At 8:47, Grant came out of the gym and ran for his van. He tore off, scaring a teenager out of his way by blasting on the horn.

Vertesi nodded MacNeice’s way and powered the Chevy around the corner in pursuit.

“Let’s go see what Grant stirred up,” MacNeice said. He and Aziz climbed out of the Chevy and walked toward Mercy’s front entrance.

Dylan thought he was in trouble when Coach Knox came out of the office and came toward him with his head down. Dylan had been shooting hoops in his first period spare, and the only broken rule that came to mind was that he was wearing a hoodie in the gym.

“Do you trust me, Dylan?” Knox came close and took the boy by the shoulders.

“Sure.”

“What I’m going to ask you to do will seem strange, but I need you to trust me—it’s important.” He turned and began to lead Dylan to the exit doors. “There’s something you need to know—I mean about your parents … and me.”

“Is this what Detective Superintendent MacNeice asked me about?”

Knox stopped for a moment, but then said, “Possibly, yes.” He threw his hip against the crash bar, opening the door. Above them, the Mercy Panthers’ championship banners fluttered in the draft.

Outside, a light rain was falling and Dylan pulled the hood over his head. His coach was wearing only sweatpants and a short-sleeved polo with the team’s logo on it. Walking the boy around the football field, he said, “I’ve got something special stored in a secret cupboard in that concrete shaft that leads to the storm sewer. It’s the only place I know where it would be safe. City workers haven’t been down there for years.”

Dylan frowned at him doubtfully, but just then the team’s equipment manager passed by; the men nodded to each other. When the equipment manager was out of earshot, Knox said, “Trust me on this, Dylan, it’ll be all right—I promise.” He dug in his sweatpants pocket and took out a key chain with a number of keys on it. He picked one out and showed it to the boy. “I removed the city lock on the cupboard a while ago and put on a lock of my own.”

He half smiled and climbed the six steps to the top of the storm sewer riser, where he lifted the overflow grate and held it up for the boy. Dylan hesitated, but then he climbed in.

“Climb down to the bottom. There’s plenty of room to stand up down there. Don’t worry, there aren’t any rats, and I’ll be right behind you.”

MacNeice opened Mercy’s massive faux Gothic door for Aziz and stepped inside behind her. They were met by Celestine Brion, who’d spotted the unmarked cars idling on the side street. She wanted to know why they were there and asked how she might help, though actually what she wanted was the drama to stop so her school could return to normal.

“We’re here to interview Coach Knox,” MacNeice said.

“Well, his first class isn’t until …,” she looked up at the caged clock on the wall, “9:45. Why don’t I bring him here and we’ll meet in my office.”

“We’d prefer to speak to him alone.”

She seemed surprised by that. “I don’t understand. Is there a problem I should know about?”

“No, ma’am, there isn’t,” MacNeice said, and stepped around her, leaving Brion to stare at their backs as they headed down the corridor.

The coach wasn’t in his office or the gym. They opened the double doors leading to the football field and looked outside. There was no sign of him, but hurrying toward the building to get out of the rain was a man struggling with two overstuffed ball bags that appeared more awkward than heavy.

“Have you seen Coach Knox?” MacNeice asked as the man drew close.

“He’s with Dylan Nicholson. I passed them on the field.”

“Where were they headed?” MacNeice asked.

“That was weird. Coach climbed up that concrete pillbox—the sewer thing—and then both of them went down. I didn’t even know the school had access to that.”

MacNeice turned to Aziz. “Call it in—all services, including the bomb squad.”

The teacher, startled, said, “What’s going … ?”

“I don’t know,” MacNeice said, “but you’d be wise to go inside and stay there.” He gently pushed the teacher in through the double doors.

MacNeice looked toward the parking lot and took out his phone. “Ryan—very quickly now—patch me through to the person responsible for the east-end storm sewers.” He started walking toward the graffiti-covered pillbox just beyond the football field, Aziz keeping pace.

“Hold on, sir.” Ryan’s voice was replaced by intermittent digital burps.

Less than a minute later, someone answered, “East Mountain Reservoir, Duane Simpson. Who’s this?”

“Detective Superintendent MacNeice, Dundurn Homicide. What’s the flow currently coming through the downtown east-end storm sewers?”

“Surges every half-hour. Why, what’s up?”

“Can you stop them?”

“The reservoir up here is a few inches from disaster. Short answer: no way.”

“Have you made the public aware of this?”

“Do you tell your neighbours every time you flush the toilet?” Simpson couldn’t hide his irritation. “We’re doing our job, detective—flushing till it stops raining or we get it stabilized.”

“When was the last surge?”

“Exactly thirty-six seconds ago.”

“How long will it take to reach Mercy High, near Main?”

“Twelve to fourteen minutes.”

“How much water can we expect?”

“Well … it’s a surge, so it’ll fill that sewer and last about ten minutes. What the hell’s going on down there?”

“We have two people in that sewer.”

“What the—get them the hell out of there! The water’ll hit there at thirty, thirty-five miles an hour. It’ll be like getting hammered by a train in a tunnel.”

“Emergency services are on the way,” Aziz said to MacNeice, her ear to her own phone.

MacNeice put his cell in his pocket and looked at his watch. “We’ve got roughly ten minutes before it floods.”

They ran through the rain to the concrete structure. MacNeice wasn’t sure what would happen next, but he didn’t want to be caught up in his coat and jacket, so he took them off. He could feel his heart pounding. Though his breathing had returned to normal, he still felt like there was a fifty-pound weight on his rib cage.

Glancing back, he saw that Brion and Principal Westbrooke were marching toward them, accompanied by the school’s security guard. Students and teachers were peering from classroom windows, and several teens late for class had turned to follow the administrators, willing to risk the consequences rather than miss out on something exciting.

The circular grate was closed. MacNeice lifted the cover onto its back and looked down. He could see Knox and Dylan at the bottom, standing on the sewer’s narrow walkway. Knox had
glanced up at the sound, and when he spotted MacNeice, he wrapped his arm firmly around the boy’s neck. Below them, the water was running at a steady but unthreatening pace.

“Leave us alone, detective,” Knox called. “I won’t harm him … I just need time to explain.” His voice boomed off the circular wall of the shaft.

Dylan looked confused and scared, clutching a piece of paper in his right hand. “He says he’s my father,” the boy yelled. “He’s even got a letter from my mom.”

Knox said, “You don’t have to read it now, Dylan. I know it by heart: ‘Sandy, I don’t know what to do. I’ve missed two periods now. David and I are getting married next Saturday. He doesn’t want children right away. Please, please call. Jenn.’ ” The coach looked up at MacNeice. “I didn’t call her back. I’ve had to live with that.”

Knox was gripping something in his right hand like it was a baseball. MacNeice knew what it was.

He looked back at the approaching phalanx of administrators and students—there were now more than a dozen people closing in on them. He grabbed Aziz’s arm and pointed her toward them. “Get them back to the school.” He stepped on the ladder and looked down the shaft. “Put the grenade away, coach. I’m coming down.”

Dylan tried to pull away, as Knox shouted, “Don’t. I swear …”

MacNeice took another step and then another. Beside the first rung on the ladder, MacNeice saw the foam insulated mechanical cabinet where Knox had likely stored the grenade and maybe the letter. He stopped when he heard the unmistakable sound of Knox pulling the pin.

“Coach, this sewer’s going to be hit by a storm surge in a few minutes. Put the pin back. Come on, we’ll go up together.” He started descending again.

“You think talent like Dylan’s could come from that man? In the last three years, I’ve nurtured and been more of a father to him than that twisted freak ever was.”

“Put the pin back, coach. You don’t want to harm Dylan.”

Knox shook his head. For a man fixated on control, he was quickly losing it.

Aziz appeared above them. As MacNeice took another step downward, she climbed over the edge and began to descend.

“I’m warning you both,” Knox screamed. “Don’t come any farther.”

MacNeice took another step. If he squatted, he figured he could just reach the top of Dylan’s head, though the boy was held tight in the crook of Knox’s arm.

Dylan’s panicked eyes sought MacNeice’s as Knox looked down. He seemed to be considering whether to step off the walkway and into the water. As MacNeice took another step, he jumped, pulling Dylan with him. The water was almost to their knees.

“Nicholson was a monster—I should receive a medal for what I did,” Knox yelled, as Dylan struggled. “I’m sorry, so incredibly sorry for the police officer who died. I thought he’d be unwrapped by thugs in the park … that I’d be doing Dundurn a favour.”

Knox’s hand was shaking. “Nicholson just clung to Dylan. He was rubbing it in my face.”

“He also knew about your relationship with Tirelle.”

“Nicholson didn’t have a clue. I’d had enough of the mocking and his pathetic need to …”

Dylan lunged for the ladder, but Knox yanked him back. MacNeice considered reaching for his side arm but it was on his right hip. By the time he had it aimed, the coach would release the lever on the grenade. He looked up at Aziz. She was almost even with MacNeice on the
ladder on the other side of the tunnel access, and directly above Knox. She glanced at the Glock inside her jacket. She had the same problem. Reaching, drawing, flicking off the safety—all Knox had to do was open his hand. MacNeice shook his head.

“Coach, what’s the plan here?” MacNeice said.

Knox looked north along the sewer. “I have one … trust me.”

“Does it include Dylan?”

“What do you mean?”

MacNeice moved down another rung. “I can’t let you take Dylan. Let him go. Once we’re all out, we’ll close the cover and walk away.”

Knox shook his head, trying to decipher what MacNeice was trying to pull. He looked down the tunnel and back up to find Aziz level again with MacNeice.

Before they heard it, they could feel it trembling in the metal rungs.

MacNeice put his hand against the concrete wall of the shaft and felt it there too, a subtle but growing tremor followed by indistinct white noise. “Coach, that surge is coming. Put the pin back and give us Dylan. I promise we’ll leave you alone.”