“Take care. If we’re right, these people have killed before. And probably more than once.”
They got out of the SUV. Tocek fastened the lead onto his dog, and the animal jumped down. For such a big creature, he moved with the grace of a ballerina.
“Unlikely she walked down this road,” the Mountie said. “In which case there’s nothing for Norman to find.”
It was fully dark. Moon and stars hidden behind thick cloud. But the wind was high, and clouds could move. Winters touched the gun in his belt. “Have a light?”
“Yeah. Want it on?”
“Not unless we need it. We need surprise, first. Let’s go.”
They walked carefully down the gravel road, keeping as much as possible to the edge of the forest. Branches reached out to grab them; rocks tried to trip booted feet. Norman pulled on his lead, making no sound save for the depth of his breathing. An owl hooted, and both officers started.
“This is a construction site, right?” Tocek said.
“Yes.”
“Strange that there isn’t any light. Would have expected the place to be lit up like the SkyDome. Discourages thieves and vandals.”
The Grizzly Resort had been a lightning rod for controversy since the day M&C Developments had applied for a permit to build. Protesters were regularly found outside the perimeter, marching along the edge of the highway. The big sign on the road was defaced continuously. Winters should have noticed how quiet it was. When he and Eliza had been here for the party, Blacklock had bragged that security guards patrolled round the clock. He pulled his gun out of his belt. “You’re right, Adam. Call it in. I want full backup. ASAP.”
Tocek spoke into the radio at his shoulder. His voice was low and soft, but clear.
Norman lifted his ears, and whimpered.
“He’s got something,” the Mountie said. “Hey, it’s worth a try.” He pulled Smith’s pajama bottoms out of his pocket. Police dogs weren’t trained to follow a specific scent. They went into a search area, and tried to find anything laid down recently, anything deviating from the expected. Tocek had stuffed Smith’s pajamas into his pocket to make her mother think she’d been useful. He held the Winnie-the-Pooh pants in front of the dog’s face. Norman took a sniff. A short sniff, as if he was merely refreshing his memory. He pulled on the lead.
The road bent to the right and they could see the trailer that was about all the Grizzly Resort amounted to. One light, no more than forty watts, burned inside.
An SUV and a BMW were parked outside.
Norman pulled on the lead. His ears stood at attention and the hair along his back bristled. He growled, low in his throat, as if he knew better than to let out a sound, but couldn’t hold it in any longer.
“She’s here,” Tocek said. “He’s found her.”
***
Meredith followed as close as she dared. To her surprise the white RCMP SUV with colored stripes running down the side and the logo of the mounted policeman, turned left, rather than right at the highway, and headed north away from town. It traveled slightly over the speed limit for about ten minutes, before turning down a narrow road leading up into the mountains. Meredith knew that Sergeant Winters lived up that road. Everyone in the Mid-Kootenays knew that John and Eliza Winters had bought the beautiful, remote Richardson place. She drove past the road, and pulled off to the side of the highway.
They’d given up. Tocek was taking Winters home. Meredith considered her options and decided to go home as well. Nothing more she could accomplish at the Smiths’. Lucky had closed up, and the investigators were closing down for the night. She’d come back at first light. She threw her car into gear, ready to do a U Turn. A silver Cadillac passed, well under the speed limit, a large-brimmed hat behind the wheel. A long line of impatient vehicles followed. The highway was narrow and winding and it was a good distance between broken yellow lines. At last Meredith could make the turn. Her foot pressed the gas, ready to accelerate, when white headlights lit up the forest on either side of the road. She slowed to a crawl. The RCMP vehicle stopped at the intersection, checked that no one was coming, and pulled out. There were still two people in it. Meredith let them have some distance and fell in behind. They drove past the Smiths’ toward town. Across the big black bridge and through the dark streets of Trafalgar. To her surprise they kept on going; didn’t turn up the hill to the police station. Past the Ford dealer and the animal hospital, past the Shell station, and the Catholic Church. Past the old mine office, now a museum. Out of the city limits. It was a Sunday night, and traffic was light. Once they left the city, Meredith feared she’d easily be spotted, so she dropped back and let the red lights of the SUV disappear into the curves of the mountain road.
Where were they going?
If they were heading to Castlegar or Nelson, there wasn’t much point in following. But the Grizzly resort was on this road. Lately, most everything seemed to center around the Grizzly Resort.
Meredith would head for the resort site. If Winters wasn’t going there, or if he was and by the time she arrived it was all over, nothing would be lost. But maybe, just maybe, she’d get lucky.
She deserved a bit of luck.
“How do you want to play it?” Tocek said, his voice no more than a rough whisper.
“There’s one person, at least, inside the trailer. I can see him walking around. Pacing. There might be more, and we don’t know if they have weapons. All’s quiet. No need to be in a hurry. We’ll wait for back up before we go in. Tell them to approach with full lights and sirens, the whole shebang. Shake things up. When they get here, I’ll take the trailer; you give Norman his lead and let him take you where he wants to go.” Winters bent over and gave the big dog a slap on the rump.
Norman whined, not happy. He’d been given a task—he’d succeeded in it—and he was being held back from leading his master to a successful conclusion.
Traffic on the highway was light; only the occasional vehicle passed. A small car came closer, it slowed, and, to Winters surprise, turned. It shuddered down the rough gravel track to the construction site. Headlights illuminated tree trunks and threw long shadows into the forest.
“Someone’s coming,” Tocek said, unnecessarily, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the sudden light.
“Off the road,” Winters said. They stepped behind large, ancient trees.
A green Neon passed their hiding spot. The door to the trailer flew open and a man ran down the steps. The light behind him was weak, but the car’s headlights threw clear while light into his face. Steve Blacklock.
The driver switched off the engine, extinguished the lights, and got out of the car. “Hi.” A woman’s voice was sharp in the quiet night.
Meredith Morgenstern. Winters had run into her before: a young, hungry journalist with far more ambition than common sense. He didn’t know what she was doing here, but it couldn’t be good.
“I know her,” Tocek said. “She was at the Smiths, just before we left.”
“Get ready to move.”
“Hi, Mr. Blacklock. Meredith Morgenstern
, Trafalgar Daily Gazette
. Remember me? We met at the party here the other night.”
“It’s late, Ms. Morgenstern. What do you want?” Blacklock’s voice was angry, full of tension. Like any man’s would be, cornered by a journalist on a Sunday evening.
“If I can have a moment of your time, Mr. Blacklock, I’m hoping you can help me with a story I’m working on.”
A woman came out of the trailer. She was tall and lean, dressed in a loosely flowing dress, and a black cape. Her face hidden in the shadows. She pulled Blacklock’s arm and he stepped behind her. “You may contact us in the morning,” the thin woman said. “This is a most inappropriate time.”
“Yeah, I know. But, well, there’s all this trouble in town, see, and I’m following a lead. When I saw the RCMP car parked up on the highway, I thought you might know something about…”
Her words were cut off as a small aircraft flew low overhead. The Grizzly resort site was long and thin, spread out between the road and the river. Mountains lined the highway to the west; across the river, mountains filled the sky. Dangerous flying, in the dark, for a small plane.
The plane followed the river north, and then turned and headed back. It sounded as if it were coming down.
Blacklock lunged forward and ran down the steps. “No,” the woman yelled. But either he didn’t hear her or didn’t care. He punched Meredith, still smiling, full in the stomach. With a started cry, she fell backward.
“That plane’s coming for them. We can’t wait.” Winters gripped his gun and ran forward. Tocek and Norman at his heels.
“Trafalgar City Police. No one move.”
A shot rang out. “Drop the weapon,” Winters shouted.
The thin pool of light from the trailer showed Meredith attempting to stagger to her feet.
“Stay down,” Winters yelled.
Blacklock grabbed the reporter and pulled her upright. He held her against him, while he let off several shots, blindly, uselessly into the woods. With one more step, Winters would be revealed by the light coming from the trailer. He stopped and yelled, “Throw down your weapon and release the woman. Do it, Blacklock. Now!”
The woman who’d stood in the door to the trailer leapt off the steps, dodged behind the man holding Meredith, and, using the Neon for cover, ran into the darkness.
“She’s going for Molly,” Tocek shouted. Norman streaked past Winters, head down, heading for the clear, strong scent he’d been instructed to follow. Tocek still had the lead in his hand.
“Wait,” Winters yelled.
A shot rang out. Norman yelped, took two more steps and collapsed.
Shocked at what he’d done, Blacklock threw down his gun, and shoved Meredith aside, hard. She fell to her knees. “Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean it,” he sobbed.
Tocek hesitated, for just a moment, above his dog. Then he jumped over the animal and pointed his own gun at the weeping Blacklock. “Where the hell is she, asshole?”
Beyond the line of trees, the airplane’s engines accelerated as it ran down the river. It took to the air, and passed overhead.
Meredith screamed. Norman whimpered. Blacklock alternately sobbed and yelled, “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t me.” Over and over.
Tocek ordered Blacklock to take two steps backward and turn around. Still crying, still apologizing, the man did so.
“Down. Flat on your stomach. Move!” Blacklock dropped as if his legs had been kicked out from under him. He buried his face into the gravel.
Winters lowered himself slowly and picked up Blacklock’s gun. He stuck it into his belt. The woman had disappeared into the woods. He tried to listen for the crunch of dried leaves, breaking twigs, swinging branches. But nothing came to him over the cacophony in the clearing.
With a sudden pull, Molly Smith’s hands came free. The pain in her wrists was excruciating, and she took a moment, a precious moment, just to breathe, to let the agony ebb. The length of duct tape hung, empty, over the bed post. The next prospective owner to visit the model apartment would think this was the naughty boys and girls suite.
Her hands were still tied together, but at least she could get the hell out of here.
She couldn’t see anything, but she thought Miller was looking up at her. His hero. Bugger that. All she had to do was get to the highway, flag down a car, flag down every car that passed, and tell them to get into cell phone range and contact the police. She didn’t have her uniform, her badge, her gun. But she figured that the anger in her face, and the rope around her wrists, would have any civilian jumping to do as ordered.
A plane flew overhead. Low. Was it coming for Burke and Miller? Almost certainly. Small planes didn’t usually fly in these mountains at night.
Which meant that she had no time to go for help. By the time the police arrived, the place would be empty, the plane long gone.
She’d have to get to the plane and try to convince the pilot that being an accessory to the murder of a police officer was not worth whatever he was being paid for this trip.
And then run like hell for help.
She crawled to the edge of the bed. The satin duvet cover felt smooth and cool against her bare legs. Miller sobbed. He smelled terrible.
“Gotta leave you, little buddy,” she whispered. “But I’ll be back, count on it. With all the milk you can drink and a nice clean diaper.”
A gunshot. Smith launched herself off the bed before realizing that the sound wasn’t at all close. Shots followed in rapid succession. A man yelled, but she couldn’t make out the words. The cavalry. Oh, dear god, let it be the cavalry.
She ran out of the bedroom, toward what she hoped was the front door. She didn’t dare turn on any lights. If help had arrived, light would guide them to her. But if the shots were a falling out amongst enemies, she didn’t want them coming to check on her. She tripped over something blocking her way; glass fell to the floor and shattered. With outstretched hands, she guided herself toward what she hoped was the front of the suite. She found the lines of the door in the wall, and slid her fingers down to the smooth, cool metal of the doorknob. She grabbed, twisted, and pulled. Nothing happened. Locked. She used the fingers of her right hand to fumble in the gloom in an attempt to find the bar that operated the lock. They found it, turned it easily, and she let out a sigh of relief. But hope came too early. She couldn’t twist the door knob, not with her hands crossed over each other. One hand on its own wasn’t strong enough to give her a good grip. She was sweating so hard her fingers slipped on the smooth metal. She struggled desperately for purchase but couldn’t find it.
She’d heard no more shots. What did that mean? That the police had arrived and taken control and she could relax? That Burke had killed Steve and now she had no chance at all of pleading for her life? Or that other baddies had arrived and were sorting out the situation? The engine of the plane roared, and she heard it taking off down the lake. The timber changed as it took to the air. Burke would be royally pissed at that, if she were still at liberty.
Smith was not going to get this door open. She ran back toward the bedroom. The furniture she’d knocked over had felt like a small, folding-legged, wooden table. The type of table a ‘60’s housewife would set up to serve dinner in front of the TV to her well-scrubbed, beaming-faced family. She used her feet to feel for it.
Found it.
It was light enough, compact enough that she could lift it in her bound hands. A razor-thin sliver of moonlight touched the big picture window. She smashed the table into the glass. Again and again. Shards tinkled as they fell, a few onto the floor, most into the forest. She used the legs of the table to sweep away any glass that might still be clinging to the window frame. No point in escaping with a cut that would bleed her out before she got to the road.
Breaking glass, her own desperate breathing, the baby howling in the bedroom, all covered the sound of the door opening.
A bullet flew past her ear, followed an imperceptible moment of time later by the sound of a gun being fired. Smith fell to the floor and rolled onto her back.
A shape stood in the doorway, tall and thin. Black against the black of the night. At that moment the clouds moved aside and the strength of the full moon came through the window. Jody Burke’s face, etched in lines of anger and hatred, shone white in the pale moonlight. Fabric flowed around her body, like a fairy flying though the air. Smith slithered on her behind toward the big leather couch she’d seen when she’d been brought in, bracing herself to feel a bullet penetrating her fragile body. When it didn’t, Smith realized that with the light shining in her face, Burke couldn’t see anything.
“Keep your head down, cop, and out of the way, and I won’t shoot it off,” Burke said. Her shape, all flowing robes, long silver earrings, and pointing gun, passed into the bedroom.