Authors: Dianne Yetman
“That’s strange”, Nora said. “Catherine always leaves the doors locked.
”
Eleanor led Nora
through the front hallway into the living room.
Nora came to a full stop, she could hear Eleanor gasping for breath but she ignored it and
tried to make sense of what she was seeing - the shredded furniture; the broken glass and the crumbled clothes on the chair.
She moved closer;
it wasn’t clothes;
it was a person. It was Catherine.
She felt herself losing consciousness and slipp
ed
towards the floor. Eleanor managed to break her fall
and lead her to the couch. She pulled out her cell and called for an ambulance. It was then she heard the knock on the front door. Damn, who the hell is that and now for God’s sake. She pulled open the door ready to send whoever it was away.
Alexis and Susan looked at Eleanor’s face.
“Are we too early”, Susan asked.
***
Early the next morning, Mrs. Rogers opened her front door, her cat scooted between her legs, ran on the path, crossed the road, heading towards the woods. That cat is half wild. It’s a wonder she comes back at all. She made her way slowly to the mailbox, no letters, but the daily paper was there.
Back in her kitchen, she put the kettle on for another cup of tea, took the paper and sat in the cane rocking chair. She only had one newspaper left to read and she would be caught up on the news. If she found the time, she’d read that last one today for this evening, for the first time since she returned home from her daughters, she was going to Bingo at the Fire Hall and she wanted to maintain her reputation as the lady who knows everything.
***
Kate
wasn’t able to meet with Gordon the next morning as he
was finishing up paperwork before he left for an afternoon press
gathering at
the
Commissioner’s office.
She spent the morning typing up her notes, giving the recorded conversations to the clerical pool to be transcribed
, discussed interview techniques with Shirley before she left for her meeting with the officials at manufacturing plant. It was a
very
hungry Kate who
grabbed a
late
lunch.
Sitting at the deli’s counter, she thought about her conversation with Roger last night. It didn’t go well. He didn’t buy
her
theory. No damn way, he said, did Stone and Camira’s killer hire thugs to get rid of him. Preposterous. Shit, Kate, his fist shaking in the air, I’m the one on drugs not you. There was no convincing him. She left with mixed feelings, happy to see how much progress he had made and sad that he wouldn’t buy into the theory.
On her way back to the office, she met Gordon at the front entrance.
“I’ve got lots to brief you on when you can spare the time”, she said.
“How about now and let’s do it at the hospital? I hear Roger’s recovering; I’d like to drop by. You can brief me in the cafeteria over their lousy coffee.”
Roger wasn’t in his room, he had been discharged. They had missed him by an hour. The two detectives made their way to the canteen, Gordon filling his cup with coffee the colour of black tar, Kate grabbing a bottle of orange juice from the cold drinks machine.
She had just begun her briefing when she heard a familiar voice.
“Kate, I thought that was you.”
She looked up. Susan and Alexis stood behind Gordon.
Oh no, not now.
“Are you here to visit Catherine too?”
“Catherine
?
Catherine who?”
“
Why, Catherine
Stone
,
of course.”
“Susan”, Alexis said, “she doesn’t know.”
“Oh my God, Kate, I’m sorry, I just assumed you knew.
Catherine’s in intensive care. Her sister, Nora and Eleanor, found her. It’s touch and go. We were invited for a meal and when
we arrived,
Eleanor opened the front door with as white a face as I ever saw then
an ambulance
pulled into the
driveway.
We waited outside for a long while, then the paramedics brought Catherine out on a stretcher.
Eleanor and Nora
rushed past us to their car.
Nora looked to be in shock. We followed the
m
to the hospital in our own car.”
Kate and Gordon rose together and asked what floor Catherine was on. Seconds later, they were heading for the elevators. Susan and Alexis joined the canteen line-up.
“I wonder why a Detective Sergeant and Inspector would be sitting in a hospital cafeteria,” Alexis asked.
“Who knows, it could be anything. Let’s get the coffee and rejoin Nora.
I don’t like leaving her alone. Eleanor is too out of it to be of any help.”
Twenty minutes later,
Susan and Alexis entered the small waiting room, coffee in hand
. T
hey looked around for the two detectives but they were nowhere to be seen. Nora had disappeared as well.
“Where
’ Nora
”
Susan
asked.
Eleanor, who was looking out the window
into the late afternoon fall darkness,
turned.
“The detectives asked her to join them in the conference room.”
Alexis and Susan settled themselves on the cold, plastic chairs and
Eleanor joined them. Ten minutes later
Kate, Gordon and Nora entered the room.
Nora, tears running down her face
, spoke
.
“She’s gone. Catherine’s gone. How am I going to tell her children?”
Susan and Alexis rushed over and encircled her in their arms; Eleanor turned and looked out the window, her legs visibly trembling.
Gordon and Kate left the
bereaved women to themselves and quickly left the room.
Chapter 13
Withers parked his car at the far end of the parking lot and walked to the main entrance. He had decided to drop in and pay Roger a quick visit before heading home to cook his evening meal.
On the main level of the hospital, Withers
l
ooked with disbelief at the ensuing chaos. People were streaming in and out of emergency, the uninjured looking for the injured; the walking injured heading towards the exit, cuts and bruises visible on their tired, swollen faces. He spotted patrolman Tom Sweeney talking with one of the ambulance attendants and headed in their direction.
“What’s going on Tom?”
Tom filled him in on the bus accident.
“Fifteen people seriously injured; thirty-five or more with minor injuries, and one fatality, the driver.
It happened just before rush hour. An hour later,
we would have been looking at more than one dead body.”
He thanked him and headed
towards the elevators. Fifteen minutes later, he entered the main lobby, exited the front doors, making his way to where he had parked,
weaving
through the glut of cars scattered in front of the hospital entrance.
T
wo police officers
were
directing approaching cars away from the main entrance towards the lower parking lots.
He nodded at them
and continued
on to the end of the lot adjacent to one of the side streets.
He
saw the back of a woman standing in the bus shelter; she was swaying back and forth. He made his way over, his jaw dropping when he saw who it was.
“June, are you alright,” he asked.
She tried a smile but swelling had distorted her lips.
“I’m better than a lot of others,” she said.
“Wait here,” he said, “I’ll bring the car around and give you a ride home. The last thing you need right now is to get on another bus.”
“Well, you know what they say about getting back up on the horse again...” her voice trailing off.
Withers didn’t hear her response, he was already halfway across the
lo
t; his pace, like his heart rate, rapid.
H
e longed to caress the scrapes and bruises on the beautiful face, to kiss her eyelids, stroke her hair.
Get yourself under control before you make a fool of yourself.
He jumped in the car, put it in gear and headed to the bus stop.
He watched
as she tried
to conceal her pain
in what seemed to take
an endless amount of time
before she was seated in the car.
“Did they give you anything for the pain?”
“Yes, they did but I haven’t taken it yet. I wanted to wait until I was home.”
“Where do you live?” He knew
the area a
nd was relieved not to have to ask her for directions. It had to be painful to squeeze words past those swollen lips. They travelled the rest of the way in silence.
Soon after turning onto Young Street, he spotted the house. It was a two story, 1950’s over and under prefab flanked by a row of small businesses – an antique shop, a small bistro, and a hardware store. On the upper level of the building, a black
and white sign
read
that
June’s Beauty Salon
,
creaked back and forth in the gentle wind.
Reaching for the door handle, a heart breaking crooked smile on
her face, June
thanked him for the drive.
“I’ll help you up the stairs”, he said.
He eased her out of the car, slipped his hand under her elbow and led her towards the side door entrance. Her hand shook as she unlocked the door. A dim
overhead
light threw shadows on the narrow, steep stairway
. They climbed slowly.
The door at the top of the stairs opened into a hallway. June invited him in for a cup of tea but he declined knowing it was a polite gesture only
.
As he turned to go, he felt her hand on his arm, then her bruised swollen lips brushing the side of his face.
“Thanks,” she whispered.
He mumbled goodbye and ran down the steps, got in his car and sped away, the brush of those swollen lips burning his face.
***
The entire Incident Team, grim faced, tired looking, many of whom had only managed a few hours sleep before returning to the precinct, gathered in the main boardroom for the debrief.
“This was no break and enter”, Gordon said. “No forced entry, valuables untouched. The killer came knocking and Catherine let him or her in.”
Tell us something we don’t know, Kate thought.
“
The hospital has released the body to the Coroner. I spoke with George and asked him to get back to us as soon as possible.
We’re looking at the same killer so Catherine was probably drugged
b
efore
the killer attacked with fists and knife
.”
“We have overkill. Raises the question, do we have the same killer”, Withers said.
“
Of course we do. The killer is escalating”, Kate said.
“I don’t know
”, Shirley said. “
Catherine was reportedly a tolerant, long-suffering faithful wife and mother. There’s not one hint of impropriety about this woman from cast, crew, and friends.
”
“Sometimes things aren’t as they seem, Shirley. We have the fact of her
excessive drug use. In my opinion, it wasn’t being used just for ‘grief relief’.
I think she
knew something and that something
got her killed. It
was personal.
Her death is linked to the others, no doubt in my mind”, Kate said.
“Nora said she had stopped taking any drugs after Stone’s funeral”
, Shirley said.
“
Ye
s. The question is why? Did she want a clear head
if
the killer confronted her?
She
fought back, you know. Defence wounds on her hands, crud under the fingernails.
”
“Maybe she
’s
known from the beginning
”,
Withers
said
.
“
Stone was a
mess; maybe she pressured him to tell her what was going on
.
”
“
Makes sense
”, Gordon said.
Kate drew a breath.
“
I think
a woman’s behind the killing.
The murder weapons – poison, drugs
a
re
typically the ones used by a female. Maybe we should bring in the RCMP. Get a profile worked up. We
’re up against it
,
three killings in less
than a month.
What do we have to lose?
”