The Frailty of Flesh (6 page)

Matt glanced at Nurani, who was staring at him wide-eyed. Ashlyn could just imagine the girl willing him to keep his mouth shut.

He shook his head. “No. I talked to her last night. After she’d packed.”

Ashlyn looked at Tain. She wondered if he was as frustrated as she was.

If he was, he didn’t let it affect his voice. “Why was Shannon packing?”

Matt looked at Nurani again. The girl blew out a big breath and rolled her eyes. “Why do you think?” Nurani said. “She was running away.”

Craig finished up the last bit of paperwork from his latest case, if he could call it that. A stolen bicycle, which was generally a seasonal crime in the rest of Canada, but in the GVA winter meant rain. The occasional snowfall didn’t usually last long. Give a child a bicycle in November and the minute the downpour turned to a drizzle he would be outside if his parents let him.

The theft was important to the boy, who’d been knocked off his bike and had it literally stolen out from under him. And it was a good thing they’d caught the little thief so that they could return the bike. They’d been able to give the young criminal the government-sanctioned frown, the only punishment considered appropriate for a kid that age in this country.

No wonder crime was on the rise.

“Nolan, my office. Now.”

Zidani didn’t wait for him to follow. As soon as the sergeant was gone Luke looked up from his desk. “I take it I’m not invited?”

“If he doesn’t order you to bend over I wouldn’t volunteer for a spanking.” Craig got up and walked down the hall to his father’s office, the one Zidani was using. A constant reminder that Sergeant Daly’s future in the Tri-Cities remained undecided, even after all this time.

There wasn’t much Daly had taken with him when he’d been reassigned, because he never kept much personal stuff in the office, but the space seemed darker, colder, almost soulless without him.

Zidani spat out a question the moment he saw Craig in the doorway. “You don’t like me much, do you?”

Craig paused. It was a question with no right answer. The only “acceptable” response he could think of was a blatant lie, and Zidani would know instantly. He already knew what Craig thought of him. Some things couldn’t be denied. The only question was whether or not Craig would play the game, try to be diplomatic long enough to avoid a confrontation, maybe earn himself some credit from his temporary supervisor.

Zidani stood and leaned back against the window ledge, behind the desk. Steve Daly’s office was unusual in layout, because it was a corner room. From the entrance the desk was to the left, with a tall, narrow window behind it. Daly had kept one picture on the wall, to the side of the window, and otherwise the wall that bordered the hallway and the space on the far side of the window were filled with bookshelves and cabinets.

The far wall also had a window, but it was partially concealed by a freestanding whiteboard that had been brought in, when Craig, Tain and Ashlyn had worked together. Those cases had led to Steve’s temporary reassignment, and the whiteboard hadn’t been removed before his departure.

“Come in.” Zidani remained perched on the window ledge, arms folded, scowl in place.

Craig stepped inside but left the door open.

“I asked you a question.”

“Respectfully, I’ll decline to answer.”

Zidani grunted. “So now you think you can play nice?”

Another loaded question. Craig remained silent.

“You’ve been on the shelf for a while,” Zidani said.

There was no sense denying it. Zidani could be baiting him, hoping he’d jump at the chance to get back in rotation with more serious crimes. Before he reminded Craig of all his perceived shortcomings and why that wasn’t going to happen.

Or was he seriously thinking about resolving this stalemate?

“What do you think of Geller?”

Craig paused. “Seems competent.”

The beady-eyed stare didn’t waiver. “A few months in and that’s all you’ve got to say?”

What do you expect when you hand us routine cases and make sure we spend more time at our desks than on the street?

It seemed as though Zidani had read Craig’s mind, because something resembling a smile replaced the scowl. “Fair enough. You two need a chance to get on the street.”

Zidani would get no argument from Craig, but he still kept his mouth shut.

“I want you to handle something.” The sergeant nodded at two boxes sitting on his desk. “Convicted killer is applying for early parole. Since the cops who made the arrest aren’t available I thought you could step in, make sure there won’t be any problems. Scum like this should never see the light of day, if you ask me.”

Craig stepped up to the desk and looked at the label on the box. Evidence in the Hope Harrington murder investigation.

“Think you can handle it?” Zidani asked.

“Isn’t this a—”

“All you’re doing is reviewing the material, checking up on any loose ends. Make sure we have nothing to worry about.”

Craig returned Zidani’s stare for a moment, then nodded. “Is Constable Geller working on this with me?”

Zidani pushed himself up off the window ledge and grunted again. “This’ll only keep you busy a few days. Then you guys can hit the streets.” He sat down in his chair and picked up the phone.

Craig grabbed the boxes and left. First Lisa Harrington. Then the lawyer and the reporter. Now Zidani. He felt his stomach twist. Something wasn’t right about this. Since when did they review files to make sure a case was solid ten years after someone was convicted, unless…Craig thought about what the reporter had said on the phone and swallowed. He was being cut loose to work on his own for a few days on a case long closed, after being assured it was a routine task, so why did he feel like he was being set up?

* * *

Tain and Ashlyn sat in the car in silence for a moment before he stated the obvious. “I think we stand a better chance if you call.”

She turned her head to the side so she could glare at him.

He shrugged. “You don’t hate me. You hate that I’m right.”

Her mouth twisted into a half smile as she removed the card from her pocket that she’d reluctantly taken hours before. It only took a moment for her to reach Byron Smythe and explain the reason for her call.

“You’d like permission to search the house.” The way Smythe spoke, it wasn’t a question. It was a regurgitation of her request, with attitude inferring the answer.

“Actually, we’re only interested in searching Shannon’s room at this time.”

“And clearly, since you’re asking permission, you don’t have a search warrant.”

Ashlyn rubbed her forehead. “In the spirit of cooperation I thought we’d ask, since it’s in your client’s best interests that we find their daughter quickly as possible. They’ve already lost one child. I’m sure they’re anxious to have Shannon home safe and sound.”

“However, they aren’t anxious to have the police invade their privacy so that they can pursue unfounded charges against a sixteen-year-old girl.”

“I—”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Hart. You’ll have to find another reason to see me.”

Ashlyn clenched her teeth. What she wouldn’t give to wipe the self-assured smile she could hear in his words right off his face.

He wasn’t finished. “Don’t worry. I’m sure we’ll be seeing a lot of each other very soon.”

She terminated the call without another word, let out a deep breath and looked up.

Only the ghost of a smile lingered on Tain’s lips. “That went well.”

“Never expect a skunk to smell nice.”

He laughed. “I thought the saying was, ‘A leopard never changes its spots.’ ”

“I prefer to think of sleazy lawyers as closer to vermin.” She leaned back against the headrest, eyes closed for a moment. “With Byron Smythe involved we’re going to need rock solid evidence to get in the house. And now he knows we want to search.”

“He can’t tamper with evidence.”

“Well, technically, he can. We’d just have to prove it in order to charge him.” She rubbed her forehead. “He doesn’t know what we’re looking for.”

Tain didn’t answer. That was all the proof she needed: Her words had sounded as hollow to him as she knew they were. A lawyer like Byron Smythe would figure it out in no time at all. If he believed there was something in the house that could help them he’d try to find it first.

And he didn’t need to tamper with anything to look. If he confirmed what was missing, he’d know the truth.

“We’re losing time. All we really wanted to do was prove whether or not the kids were lying.” Ashlyn opened her eyes and looked at Tain. “We need to find another way to do that.”

“You can forget arresting those kids and taking them in for questioning. If you thought Zidani came down on you before…”

“It would waste too much time, anyway. You think Nurani’s parents don’t have a lawyer on retainer, with a house like that? We—” Her cell phone rang and she lifted it to look at the caller ID, answered and listened to the voice on the other end. “We’ll be right there,” she said, and hung up.

Tain reached to start the car. “Sims?”

She nodded as she clipped her seat belt. “He’s found something he wants us to see.”

Craig wondered how his dad had felt when he stood over the body of sixteen-year-old Hope Harrington.

It was easier than acknowledging how he felt himself, just going over the evidence.

The school photo in the file set the stage. A beautiful girl, slender, creamy skin, with silky black hair and gentle blue eyes. Sometimes blue eyes seemed cold, but Hope’s eyes were like a warm sky on a cloudless day. There was something in her shy smile, but even the hint of self-consciousness that crept in couldn’t conceal the fact that Hope had been a lovely girl.

Underneath her simple beauty there was another story that came through. Perhaps it was the faded blouse, the lack of makeup or the absence of any jewelry other than a locket around her neck. Craig couldn’t put his finger on it, but he didn’t believe his assessment was tainted by his earlier meeting with Lisa Harrington.

They were poor. And there was something within Hope, just the tiniest touch of sadness in the lines around her eyes, that said she knew she wasn’t destined for great things. It wasn’t that her smile was forced, but it was bridled. You could tell this was a girl who didn’t cling to delusions or childish optimism. Dreams were already fading as she accepted her place in society’s pecking order.

Or was it that Craig was projecting himself into the equation? Something about Hope made him think of his half sister, and he swallowed hard. He pushed that thought aside.

He set the picture down and looked back at the crime-scene photos.

Craig had wanted to look at the photos before reading the details of Hope’s death. The photos alone wouldn’t tell him how many times she’d cried out for help or for how long she’d suffered before the fatal blow, but they were the only way he could see the crime scene for himself, through his own eyes, untainted by interpretations that would affect how the officers on the scene would record the details.

Hope’s death had been horrendous. If a picture really was worth a thousand words, that was the first one the photos shouted. The next words that came to mind were brutal and vicious.

Photo after photo, more of the same. The shock turned to rage. How many times had Hope Harrington been struck? The once-creamy skin was a mass of purple bruises, and where the flesh wasn’t discolored it was broken. In one photo there was a fly in the gaping wound.

Craig felt his stomach turn.

The coroner’s report wasn’t any easier to get through. Bludgeoned over five dozen times. Indentations made on the soles of the victim’s feet were consistent with the shape of a twelve-inch crowbar, also known as a wrecking bar. One that was the right size had been located in the Harrington home. Two sets of fingerprints were found on the weapon. Lisa Harrington’s and Donny Lockridge’s.

Blood and tiny shreds of flesh were found still on the crowbar. Samples taken positively matched Hope Harrington’s DNA.

The autopsy revealed other injuries. Broken fingers and fractures in the ulna, attributed as defensive wounds. Death had resulted from a particularly vicious series of blows to the head that cracked the skull, although the beating and blood loss may have been enough to kill Hope already. The coroner couldn’t say for certain. If Hope had reached a hospital within a short period of time it may have been enough to save her, if she’d had a skilled surgeon and received immediate care. If, if, if. Hope’s attacker appeared to have started at her feet and worked his way to the top, becoming more vicious and aggressive the more he struck her, leaving no portion of her body untouched.

And then there were the other wounds. As Craig read through the report, he realized there was no way his dad would want to talk about the specifics of this murder. This was the kind of case he wouldn’t want to remember, but wouldn’t be able to forget.

The murder had gone beyond personal. It was savage. The body had been dumped, the murder weapon hidden, the scene of the crime never discovered. That meant it wasn’t a place they’d normally gone to, such as his house or hers. Both locations had been searched, and despite public appeals for information the murder site had never been located. The fact that Donny hadn’t murdered Hope at home or any place their friends knew they hung out meant it was somewhere he’d taken Hope to deliberately. Not a crime of passion, not something that happened in the heat of the moment. Premeditated brutality. Someone capable of this level of violence would most likely kill again.