Cut to the Quick (33 page)

Curt's head rose slowly, as if the weight was almost too much for him to bear. “Please. I need you,” he said.

Manon's eyes opened wide, and she shook her head from side to side. “I don't think that's true. I don't think you've ever really needed anyone.” She clasped her hands over her heart. “If it is true, then I'm sorry I have to go. But I do.”

“Tell her to stay, not to leave me,” Curt implored Hollis.

Curt had lost his second son. And Manon was leaving with Etienne. How terrible for him. But how horrifying for Manon to think she and Etienne would be next.

Manon whirled and pointed a shaking finger at Hollis. “You're my friend. Don't you dare take his side.” Her face seemed to fracture and break into a thousand bits. A drawnout wail shattered the air. Tears flooded. She staggered to a chair and collapsed, sobbing deep ragged sobs.

Curt lurched forward. He bent down, encircled her with his arms and pulled her to her feet, where he cradled and soothed her.

Hollis beckoned to Etienne. They crept into the garden.

“What happens now?” Etienne asked. With his arms hanging at his side, his shoulders sagging—he'd taken the stance of a defeated old man. “What will they do when they find Tomas?”

Poor kid. How unbelievably awful for a child to have to go through this again. “We don't need to cross that bridge yet.

We'll hope Tomas is still alive.”

Etienne glared at her. “He should be. It's not fair. Tomas is a champion swimmer.”

If Etienne wanted to talk about the accident, she'd give him a chance. Whenever something terrible had happened to her, she'd wanted to tell and retell the story.

“Why wasn't he wearing a life jacket? Come and sit down and tell me what happened.”

Etienne dropped onto a chaise longue. Hollis pulled a second one around until they sat knee to knee.

“We were a long way out. The boat started to take on water. It washed over my feet. As more and more water filled the boat, it sank lower. It was rough, and waves splashed over the sides. Tomas and David dropped the sails. Tomas said he'd take a look. He ripped off his life jacket, jumped in and dove down to see what had happened under the boat.” Etienne bit his lip. “He was hardly down there a minute before he popped up. He said there was a jeezly big hole. When we hauled him in, he said he'd get the caulking stuff from the cabin locker…”

He gazed away as if he was seeing a replay of the accident on an interior
TV
screen. Hollis waited.

“It comes in rolls. Usually you stick it on and paint over it. Anyway, Tomas said it would slow the water pouring in and give the bilge pump a chance to work. Then we would have time to signal for help or make it back to shore.” Etienne expelled the words in one long rush as if they'd been dammed up inside him. “David warned him it was dangerous—we might sink at any moment. Tomas said it would only take a minute to push himself down into the cabin and get the caulking.” Etienne's eyes filled with tears. “He didn't have a minute. The boat shook.” He paused “It was like when my dog Beau died—she did that too, sort of gave up. One minute, my feet were braced on the bottom. The next minute there was no bottom. David yelled at me to swim away, so the rigging wouldn't trap me and suck me down.”

“My God.”

“The waves were high. It was hard to swim wearing the life jacket. When I figured I was far enough away, I treaded water and shouted to Tomas and David. Only David answered. I waited for Tomas, but he didn't come.” He stopped.

“How long were you in the water?”

“A long time. It was freezing. We had whistles on our life jackets and blew and blew. A boat came close. It was a sailboat— they couldn't stop, but they must have had cell phones. The harbour police came right after. They pulled us in.”

Hollis wanted to hug him, but she didn't know if it was a good idea when he was working hard to be brave and rational. “Horrible,” she said.

“If Tomas hadn't been diving, he would have had his jacket on.”

“Even a life jacket wouldn't have saved him if he was in the cabin.” What a stupid thing to say. She could have ripped her tongue out. “We won't give up hope.”

“I'm getting my Game Boy,” Etienne said. “It's like the stars—it makes me forget bad things.”

* * *

Sleep did not come that night. The image of Tomas trapped in the boat haunted her. At four, she heard Curt rise and leave. Half an hour later, there was more noise. MacTee, who hadn't been interested in rising at four, staggered to his feet and trotted off to investigate.

Hollis rolled out of bed and threw on her dressing gown. Whatever they were doing, they might need her. She padded to Etienne's room. He had just added his telescope to the pile of clothing on his bed.

“What are you doing?”

“We're going to Grandmaman's when Maman finishes packing.” He patted his telescope. “I don't want to go until we find out what happened to Tomas. Papa will need us.”

“I'll talk to your mother.” Downstairs, she rapped on Manon's door.

“Come in, but don't try to change my mind—I'm leaving.”

One suitcase sat inside the door. Manon had a third one on the bed. “I'm not sitting here waiting for the killer to pick us off.”

“I wasn't arguing. What can I do to help?”

“Nothing. I promised Etienne we'd stop and eat breakfast at a highway restaurant.” She continued to move back and forth. At the bureau, she scooped underwear from an open drawer and returned to dump it in the suitcase. She stopped with a bra dangling from her hand. “Would you stay in the house? If they phone about Tomas, call me on my cell phone.”

That she could do. “I'll take MacTee for a quick walk while you're still here. Then I'll make coffee. You can take it with you. It'll keep you going until you reach the first restaurant.”

Twenty minutes later, Hollis helped Manon and Etienne load the car and waved them off. Back in the house, its emptiness engulfed her.

If she assumed sabotage, this was the fourth, no, the third attempt to kill someone in the family. She could rule out the bombing—the alleged perpetrator had been apprehended. What about the other three crimes? The police considered motive, means and opportunity. Motive was a stopper. Had the killer targeted Ivan? Was it one of Penny's relatives? Or had the murderer meant to kill Curt or Tomas? Would Sebastien Lefevbre, Arthur or Olivero have hated Curt enough to murder him or his son?

No matter what happened, Curt wouldn't teach today. She phoned the college and left a message guaranteed to disappoint her fellow artists. Artists tended to be single-minded.

Artists. She thought of Lena. Had her passion led her to attempt to kill Curt and end up murdering her son? Did Tomas have enemies they didn't know about? Had the arsonist intended to kill Curt, Etienne or her? She shivered. Who had been the saboteur's target?

She couldn't find a motive, but what about means? That wasn't hard. Cutting the brakes required minimal knowledge—nothing complicated. Setting a fire and making a hole in a wooden boat hull didn't require muscle or special knowledge. A man or woman of any age could have committed all three crimes.

Opportunity. Who had all three? She reviewed the list. She scratched Arthur; he hadn't risen from his hospital bed to punch a hole in the boat. One after another, she eliminated suspects, until finally she arrived at a name that shocked her.

T
he
phone rang. The harbour police at first light had found an unconscious young man, whose lifejacket had kept him afloat, and plucked him from Lake Ontario. They assumed it was Tomas. Would someone come and identify him?

Hollis couldn't phone Curt—he didn't have a cell phone. David's had been in his pocket when the boat had sunk. He had intended to replace it later in the day. Nothing for it— she'd have to go to the hospital herself. Should she call Manon? No, not until she made sure it was Tomas and learned his prognosis. She headed for the hospital.

Nursing staff surrounded the young man, still unconscious and inches from death. The room was filled with machines and staff as they worked to restore his core temperature. They allowed Hollis to view him and confirm that it was Tomas.

“Because he's young and healthy, he should recover, but it will be touch and go,” a young intern said. “His life jacket kept him floating—his youth and vitality kept him alive.”

His life jacket—but he hadn't worn one. That was a mystery, but they'd hear the explanation when Tomas regained consciousness. He would; she knew he would. Hadn't the doctor said he was young and strong? She'd rush home to wait for Curt and to call Manon.

Her euphoria faded. Before she did that, she had a more important call to make. If her speculations were right, she knew the killer's identity, but not why or whom he'd intended to kill.

Upstairs, she called Rhona, who was “in the office but on another line”. Should she call back or leave a message? It wasn't an option—she considered her words carefully. She didn't want to make an unfounded accusation, but if she was right, Rhona needed to know.

* * *

“They've picked up Tomas Hartman, and I had to hear it on the radio. He's alive, but barely,” Zee Zee shouted at Rhona when both detectives emerged from their cars in the basement parking garage. They race-walked toward the elevator. “Why the hell didn't someone phone us last night after the accident happened? You'd think the Harbour Police might have made a connection or two. I'd say it was a conspiracy, but more likely it was plain stupidity.”

Rhona sent an officer to pick up the security tapes from the
RCYC
. Zee Zee phoned and learned they'd located the sunken boat with sonar and would send divers down later in the day. Rhona called the hospital, made several inquiries and hung up.

“He's suffering from hypothermia and hallucinating. He drifts in and out of consciousness. Hollis has identified him. His father and the other guy in the accident, David Nixon, were out with the search boats, but not in the one that picked him up. They're on their way home.”

After she shuffled through her in basket, Rhona held up a file. “The fingerprint info is finally here.” Simultaneously she opened the file and checked her phone messages.

“It's Hollis. Come to the house. I've connected the dots. I don't believe what I found, but if I'm right the killer is… No, I'm not even going to say it until you hear how I figured out who it is.”

She hadn't said what time it was when she called. Rhona whipped over to Zee Zee's desk waving the file. “Never mind what you're doing. Let's go. Hollis has fingered the killer. If she confronts whoever it is, she'll endanger herself. We have to stop her before she does something stupid.”

A
s
she finished her message, Hollis heard the front door open downstairs. MacTee, who considered himself off duty because he'd risen early, paid no attention and continued to snore. She stepped into the hall and shut the door behind her. About to shout her good news, she stopped when she heard David speaking.

“Do you know who I am?”

Strange question. Of course Curt knew who he was.

“You don't, do you? Does the name Rita Brown mean anything to you?”

“Rita Brown?”

“Rita, the Haida woman who studied at Emily Carr College with you. She made the briefcase you carry everywhere. Surely you can't have forgotten? What an unreliable memory you have,” David said mockingly.

“I knew Rita years ago. It took me a minute to remember. This is an odd conversation. What does Rita have to do with anything?”

“Rita was my mother.”

Hollis tiptoed closer to the stairs.

“Why didn't you say so earlier? What do you mean ‘was' your mother?”

“She's dead.”

“Poor Rita. What happened to her?”

“Never mind
poor Rita.
You're my father. I found out before she died.”

“Whaaat?” Curt's amazement sounded genuine.

“Don't tell me when you flew off to New York to become a big-time star, you weren't aware she was pregnant. You left her alone to have the baby, to have me. You never contacted her again. She told me she thought you didn't want to hear about me, so she didn't tell you. But she should have—you should have come and rescued me from her.”

“I had no idea. Truly I didn't. She can't have been very pregnant when I left, or I would have known. What happened to you?”

“What happened? Were you aware that she was crazy, or did you just think she was fey and artistic? She had something called Munchausen's syndrome. Do you know what that is?”

There was a pause.

“You
hurt
your children to give you an excuse to take them to the hospital, where everyone pays attention to you and tells you what a loving, concerned parent you are. Eventually the authorities caught on. The child protection people removed me, but not before she'd broken my leg. Osteomyelitis has made me a permanent cripple.”

“My God.”

“Oh, but there's more.” David's tone was bitter. “Did you read about the battle between social services and the tribal councils? The First Nations demanded to have native children in white foster homes returned to native homes on the reserve. I can see by your face that this is news to you. It was bad news for me. My mother had long disappeared in Vancouver's east side. Thanks to interfering social workers, I went from one terrible foster home to another on the reserve.”

“If only I'd known. David, finish your story, but I have to sit down. Come into the living room.”

While they moved, Hollis crept down the stairs.

“Not much else. At one point, my dear mother came home. Someone told her about me. That's when she told me that you're my father. I figure you owe me big time. I'm your eldest son—your legitimate heir. A blood test will prove it. Since you don't have a will, I intend to inherit everything.”