Torque (27 page)

“My kidnapped sister. And you’ve got one
minute to tell me where she is.”

“You want your sister? Then I want to talk to
Fenn.”

“I don’t give a shit what you want,
Lady.”

Eileen removed the lid from the box. Inside,
stacked vertically, were several trays. She lifted one out and
showed Reis that it was covered with a moving carpet of
insects.

“There are close to a thousand bees on this
rack, and I have five trays. That’s an awful lot of stingers.” She
stepped forward and with a sudden thrust shook the tray. En masse,
the insects dropped off the tray and landed on Reis who lifted her
chin and recoiled back against the wicker chair. The bees,
attracted by the queen in the pendant, began crawling across her
chest as if Reis were the new hive. Eileen pulled another tray.

“Unless you’ve got something to tell me, you
might want to keep your mouth closed. Tongue stings can be just as
fatal as those on your throat.”

Eileen shook the tray and bees fell like rain
onto Reis who began to protest through barely parted lips.

“Nuh, nuh, nuh.” The insects crawled behind
her ears and down her neck. Eileen shook another tray and the mass
seemed to move with purpose.

“Oh, dear. They are getting into your blouse.
Let me see if I can get them out.” Eileen undid the top buttons and
bees swarmed inside.

“Nice bra. Victoria’s Secret?”

Reis writhed as the swarm explored the new
territory.

“So sorry.” Eileen dumped the fourth tray. “I
seemed to have made it worse. Try to keep your elbows out, a
stinger in the armpit can be excruciating.”

She pulled the last tray and scattered the
remaining drones over her captive as if sprinkling raisins on a
cake. Bees bumped into their hive mates and slid down the silky
hair. Scarcely any skin was visible beneath the arthropods as they
buzzed and bustled and explored ears, nostrils, and lips.

Eileen stood back to take in the scene.

From the top of her head to below her
breasts, Reis was covered with a layer of moving moss. The wicker
wheelchair vibrated as she fought the impulse to shake and scream.
It was hard to inhale and her breath escaped in a series of moans.
The surreal sight mesmerized Eileen until her husband’s voice
injected a dose of reality.

“What on earth is going on, here?”

Fenn appeared at his shoulder and also came
to a halt. It was like stumbling upon a circus freak show. Reis was
a faceless creature moving to an involuntary rhythm. Her hands
opened and closed as did her thighs as she tried repeatedly to
bring her knees together. Her moaning had now become, “Hhuh. Hhuh.
Hhuh.”

Fenn was about to speak when a trickling
sound caught their attention. Reis had lost control of her bladder
and the urine seeped through the wicker seat to puddle on the
cement floor.

Tight-lipped, Larry grabbed the smoker and
began puffing it over the bees. His fingers undid the bow holding
the pendant around her neck and he carried the queen from the barn.
In silence, Eileen used a long-bristled brush to encourage the bees
to fly after him. She cast an anxious glance at Fenn and shrugged
her shoulders.

“I thought it might get her to talk.”

Most of the bees had now flown after their
matriarch. Eileen flicked a couple of stragglers from inside Reis’s
blouse but didn’t bother redoing the buttons. Reis slumped in the
chair and dropped her head to her chest. She took one deep
shuddering breath then in a low voice said, “Oh, fuck. That was
amazing.”

CHAPTER
38

Fenn beckoned Eileen to follow and they left
Reis in recovery mode. The bee beard, as such displays are called,
had been dramatic but hadn’t garnered the result Eileen had hoped
for. After his own experience with Reis, Fenn wasn’t all that
surprised. However, he thought he might have uncovered the
information he and Eileen wanted.

He’d located Larry up the road, re-grading a
driveway with the tractor, and got him to pull the BMW out of the
mud. Fenn, driving the Challenger, had a few minutes to go through
the car before the big John Deere 6400 arrived. Upended in the
passenger side footwell was a briefcase that must have been open
when it slid off the seat. Among the business cards, property
brochures, and blank contracts, Fenn had discovered a page of
handwritten directions to a location near Port Severn.

On the back seat was an overnight bag
containing a few clothes and toiletries; and an attaché case, the
contents of which had brought Fenn’s rummaging to a sudden halt.
The leather case was full of money. Wads of money. Large
denominations. He’d wondered, briefly, if the cash was meant for
him; an offer for the disc that he couldn’t refuse, until a quick
count revealed the amount was vastly disproportionate to Reis’s
first offer.

Then he’d found a small carton filled with
die-cut pieces of striped vinyl in plastic sleeves. He’d taken one
from the box and it was like holding a key. In a flash the patch,
the disc, the murders, offers of money and the
attacks—everything—made sense.

He led Eileen to the Challenger and showed
her the sheet with the directions on it.

“These roads will take me an hour or so north
of Toronto but after the final instruction,
turn right onto
Little Chute Road
, there is no address. I’ve no idea how long
that road might be.”

“Little Chute Road rings a bell,” said Eileen
as she studied the paper.

“I also found a cell phone,” Fenn said, and
almost dropped it when it buzzed in his hand. He and Eileen stared
at it, then at each other. It buzzed again. Fenn offered it to
Eileen.

“Answer it,” he said in a whisper, as if the
caller could hear him. “Pretend you’re her.”

Eileen flipped open the phone but hesitated.
“What do I say?”

“As little as possible. And be a bitch.”

Eileen hit the talk button. “Reis here.”

“It’s R. J. We’re at The Retreat.
Harrowport’s on his way. The cops didn’t have a search warrant, and
couldn’t hold him for anything. When will you be here?”

“Uh. Soon.” Eileen squinted at Fenn who
seemed to be mouthing words.

“Ask if they have Kim,” he hissed.

Eileen bit her lip and nodded. “How’s the
girl?”

“Trussed up like a turkey. Maybe later I’ll
go pluck her.” A laugh.

“Touch her and I’ll cut your balls off!”
yelled Eileen.

Fenn grabbed the phone and closed it. Eileen
gave him a vehement look.

“Bitchy enough for you?” She turned away but
Fenn could see the arm that leaned on the cane was shaking. He had
to ask.

“What did they say?”

“Some guy called R. J. said he had Kim
trussed up. It sounded like she was okay though. She’d better
be!”

“Anything else?” Fenn pressed.

“He said they were at The Retreat.” She fazed
out for a moment, in thought. “Hey, these guys are connected with
Harrowport & Dynes Funeral Home, right?”

Fenn nodded.

“That’s why Little Chute Road rings a bell.
My dad’s construction company poured the foundation for that
Retreat place a few years ago. I remember it now because the
invoicing got complicated.” Eileen held out her hand. “Give me the
phone.”

She punched some numbers on the pad.

“Hi Janet. Eileen Tillart calling. I’m fine,
and you? My father’s not working you too hard, is he? Listen, I
need an address off an old invoice.”

While Eileen helped Janet locate the file,
Fenn thought about the connection between Eileen’s father, Jack
Klaasen, and the owners of Harrowport & Dynes. Both being
Burlington businessmen they would probably habit the same business
and social circles, which made it probable that Klaasen Enterprises
had also been involved in the construction of the funeral home. He
wondered what Klaasen would think of Harrowport snatching his
daughter.

“That’s great, Janet. Now, is my dad there?
Vegas? Really? Okay, I’ve got his cell number. Thanks.” She handed
the phone back to Fenn. “The Retreat is at 16 Little Chute Road,
Port Severn. Now what do we do with Reis?”

“Wait for the police.” This from Larry, who
had appeared on the porch with a hunting rifle in his hand. “I just
called and told them we were holding a person of interest.” He
raised the rifle and aimed it at Fenn.

“Put your hands up, Chas.”

“Why? You know I’m not armed.”

“Whatever. Just give that paper to Eileen and
head into the barn.”

“No.”

“No?” Larry adjusted the gunstock to his
shoulder and peered along the sight.

“We both know you’re not going to shoot,
Larry. And it’s not like the police won’t know who I am if I take
off. So ease up and lower that thing before you accidently wing
me.”

“He’s right, Larry. Honey.” Eileen moved
toward her husband. “We’re caught up in something, here, but Chas
is not the villain. In fact, we think we know where Kim is.”

Larry held the rifle on Fenn another few
seconds then lowered it. “Don’t think I wouldn’t shoot you to
protect my family.”

“Fair enough, but I’m not a threat. Look, we
don’t have long before the cops arrive. I’ll tell you all I know
and then I’m heading north to find Kim.”

“Why not wait for the police?” said
Larry.

“Because, as you said, I am a person of
interest. While the cops waste time grilling me, and figuring out
which tree to put the SWAT team in, anything could happen to Kim.
As long as I have what the kidnappers want, and they think I’m
available to make a trade, they probably won’t harm her.”

“Okay, but I’m coming with you.”

“You need to stay with Eileen and keep an eye
on Reis. Her you can shoot. I’ll be in Port Severn within a couple
of hours and I’ll take the cell phone. That way, whether the cops
show up or not, I can let you know what’s going on.”

“At least take my rifle, Chas. I’ll get you a
box of ammo.”

Fenn shook his head again. “I’m better off
without it. I could use a couple of water bottles though.” He
calculated he now had about five minutes leeway to outline what he
wanted them to tell the police. He gave Eileen the briefcase, a
couple of the vinyl patches, and the jade hairclip.

“Be careful with that needle thing. I don’t
know what’s inside but Reis tried to tattoo me with it.”

Eileen took a pen and one of the blank
contracts from the briefcase and jotted down the number of Reis’s
cell phone. Larry brought out two water bottles and allowed him to
fill the Challenger’s tank from the farm gas pump. Fenn put the car
in gear and rolled down the window.

“Phone me when the Fuzz get here.”

I may not be able to answer, he thought, but
at least I’ll know they’re in the game. According to the dash clock
it was two minutes past two. If he could find The Retreat before
dusk he wouldn’t have to stagger around unfamiliar woods in the
dark. One hand on the steering wheel, the other on the shifter’s
pistol-grip, Fenn scanned the road ahead for openings.

Clutch.

Shift.

Gas.

The Challenger responded crisply to the
pedal. From the tenor tone of the pistons to the throaty chorus of
exhaust the Hemi’s song was in tune. Fenn needed no tachometer. He
just listened to the hum and waited until the pitch was just
right.

Clutch.

Shift.

Gas.

CHAPTER
39

The reports coming in were like those good
news/bad news tales that kids tell. Detective Inspector Lareault
was prepared to reserve judgment until a clear pattern emerged but
his higher-ups were not so patient. There’d been a development, and
developments usually moved a case along, but the problem with
today’s leap forward lay in the value of the return.

The value of the return
was a
favourite catchphrase of Chief Superintendant Heatherington. Her
ladder had been the academic route of business finance, economics,
human resources and media relations. Lareault knew the top cop had
to keep an eye on the bottom line but having to reconcile every
cost to an end result was a pressure she passed to the lower
ranks.

The funeral home had been under observation
for several days. Expensive days if he looked at it from both
sides. However, the phone tap and undercover placement had provided
tangible evidence that Harrowport & Dynes had links to a West
Coast crime organization. The discovery of unregistered human
glands at Simedyne had been a bonus and only needed a DNA report to
match the organs to the funeral home’s clientele.

Compelling elements, but there were still
giant gaps that made the sum less than the whole. Gaps that
Harrowport’s crew had driven a limousine through because Lareault’s
department had been caught flat-footed in this morning’s fiasco.
Attempts to talk with Bloomfield had turned into phone tag until
the sergeant finally caught the inspector at his desk.

“Evan. Frank here. I guess you already know
it’s been a hell of a morning. We had to make a pre-emptive strike
on H&D. Our inside guy called it in; said there was some
commotion and that a young woman was being forcibly confined. She
apparently climbed out a window and escaped in a souped up car
…”

Lareault gathered by the pause that
Bloomfield was driving while talking to him.

“Her escape appears to have been coordinated
with two unidentified males. The getaway car then crashed, and we
think the woman was retaken by a couple of funeral home employees
driving either a limousine or a van. Current whereabouts
unknown.”

“Did we get anything from showing up at the
Home?”

“We weren’t exactly prepared. There’s the
alleged kidnapping and unlawful confinement, but all we know is
that she’s the daughter of Jack Klaasen. You know, Jackhammer
Jack.”