Foul Deeds: A Rosalind Mystery (15 page)

“So you know I mean business. So cough up the file.”

My mind was racing. What were my options? Stall as long as possible while he beat the crap out of me? Agree to give him the file? Take him on a wild goose chase? I took a risk.

“Okay,” I said. “You're right, I did find a file at Sophie's today, but I gave it to Detective Arbuckle. And I explained everything to him, so it's already too late. The beans have been spilled. So far you're not part of the story, but as soon as they figure out who Aziz is, they'll be after you for murder. And what's more they got some prints off the cellphone, and they're not McBride's so they must be yours.” I was on a roll now. “So if I were you, I would stop trying to protect whoever is paying you and get the hell out of town.”

I was leaning against the hall wall, my hands tied behind me, the cords cutting into my wrists.

Molly was still barking loudly, and sounded as though she was just outside the front door. I could also hear car doors closing and men's voices. Molly stopped barking and started whining. The doorbell rang.

He looked at me. I could feel the hall light switch jabbing into my back. If I forced my tied hands upwards, my fingers could feel the switch.

“Please,” I said. “Where's Sophie?”

“That smart-mouthed little bitch is in deep shit,” he said.

There was some loud rapping and we heard, “Police! Open up.”

“Tell me where she is and I won't turn you in,” I said hastily.

“Fuck you,” he said, his spittle spraying in my face.

“HELP!” I screamed. “HELP ME!” He grabbed my throat and squeezed. I forced my hands higher and frantically switched the hall light on and off, on and off. There was a loud crack against the frosted glass.

My attacker turned and flew into the dark kitchen. I could hear him grunting and struggling with the back door. There was a sliding bolt lock a few inches up from the floor—you wouldn't notice it if you didn't know it was there.

The glass in the front door gave way and I called out again. “I'm here, help me.”

From the kitchen I heard the bolt slide and the back door open as two police officers entered the front vestibule.

“Back door!” I said, gesturing with my head “He's escaping!”

One of them sprinted after him while the other worked at untying my hands.

“Why are you here?” I asked breathlessly, “How did you know to come here?”

“Two calls came in: one from a Blue Bell taxi driver to say something didn't look right and one from your neighbours next door who called about that barking dog.”

“I think this guy is the one who hurt that young man the police found tonight,” I blurted out as my hands were freed.

Wasting no more time, he turned and followed his partner out through the back.

Molly was scratching at the front door and whining. I pulled it open and stepped onto the porch.

“It's okay, Molly. It's okay,” I said, trying to get my breath, and bending to give her a hug. I could feel myself trembling. She licked my face, which normally I would abhor, but it felt great. “Stay here now. Wait until I clean up all this broken glass.”

It was three o'clock in the morning
and I was at loose ends. The police hadn't returned though I expected them to come back or send someone else to question me. I could only think that they were so caught up in the chase they'd forgotten all about me. Their cruiser was still parked in front of my house. I had swept up the glass as best I could and had brought Molly into the kitchen and given her a bowl of cat crunchies and some water. Now I had the kettle on and was hoping to calm myself with a cup of tea. I picked up the cat and tried to settle her on my lap, but she was even more electrified by the night's events than I was. She scrambled down. I looked at the phone.

Though Harvie claimed he never slept, he was sound asleep when I called.

“I'm so sorry, Harvie,” I apologized. “I know we had a wild and crazy day but tonight's been even crazier.”

“What's up, Roz,” he said. “What's happening?”

“You're going to think I'm nothing but trouble,” I replied. “Can you possibly come over?”

“Five minutes,” he replied, and hung up.

I felt so grateful I wanted to weep. The sudden shriek of the kettle's whistle had me almost jumping out of my skin. I took a deep breath, made the tea and left it to steep.

I didn't want Harvie or anyone to cut themselves on the jagged edges of the door's remaining frosted glass, so I dragged a piece of fibreboard up from the laundry room and was standing on the front steps attempting to tack it up over the upper half of the door.

“This is easier with two people, Roz.” Harvie was suddenly behind me.

“Oh, god!” I exclaimed. “Sorry. I'm a little jumpy.”

“It's okay, Roz, take it easy. Let's get this done and then you can tell me what happened.” He reached out for the hammer and I handed it to him. “God, look at your wrist,” he said, seeing the red marks that had been left by the cord.

“Wrists.” I showed him both. I held the board in place while he tacked in several nails. Then we went into the kitchen for tea while I filled him in on the night's events.

“Oh boy,” he said. “Oh boy, Roz. This is a very bad scene.”

“I know, Harvie. I don't think there's any doubt that Peter King was killed. I mean these guys are brutal.”

“Look, there are too many people getting hurt, including yourself. It's time to fill in the police and let the chips fall.”

I knew he was right. Molly let out a low sharp woof as the doorbell rang. This time we both jumped.

“That must be the cops coming back, ” I said.

“Let's hope so,” he said.

Though it hardly seemed likely my attacker would ring the front doorbell, Harvie and I went down the hall like two frightened kids. With the broken glass covered over, I now had no way of seeing though my front door, so I cautiously opened it to find none other than Arbuckle standing there.

“Haven't we met somewhere before?” he asked dryly.

“It's a relief to see you, Donald,” said Harvie.

“Please come in.” I pulled Molly back so he could enter. Then I realized this visit might not be about me. “Oh my heavens—have you found Sophie?”

“No luck there,” he said. “Tonight I'm investigating a serious assault on a young man, and one of the officers who was here earlier contacted me to say you had indicated there might be a connection between your assailant and that case.”

“That's right. He told me I would end up like ‘my little Arab friend.' And I had just heard the report on the 2:00
a.m.
news. How is he doing, do you know?”

“According to the most recent report from the hospital, he's still unconscious, possibly in a coma.”

“Oh no, what a disaster,” I said, my heart sinking.

We were standing in the hall. Harvie said pointedly, “I think we should all sit down so you can fill Donald in on the details, Roz.”

“What's happening out there—have they caught the creep?” I asked as we walked into the kitchen.

“Not so far, but he lost a glove going over your fence. We're bringing in the dogs.”

I poured him a cup of tea. “Milk?”

“Clear's fine,” he replied. “Okay, I'm all ears. Fill me in.”

“Right,” I said, seating myself across from him. “There's a connection between Sophie and the young man who was beaten—‘Aziz' I think is his name.”

“It is,” Arbuckle replied. “Aziz Mouwad.”

“He was the one having his tarot cards read this morning. This all relates to a case that McBride and I are working on. Aziz carried some information to Sophie's that could help to bring a murder charge in the death of Peter King.”

“The lawyer who died recently?”

“That's right,” Harvie chimed in. “Environmental and Trade Law specialist. He was a long-time colleague of mine and also a good friend.”

“And you're saying King was murdered?” Arbuckle looked at Harvie.

“I'm just learning about all this myself, Donald,” Harvie said.

“We don't have conclusive evidence yet,” I said, “but Peter King's son Daniel suspects that he was, and has hired McBride to investigate.”

All at once, my eye was drawn past Arbuckle to flashing lights outside the kitchen window. I stood and walked over to look out. Figures with flashlights and a number of dogs were out in the dark treed area beyond my back fence. A kind of no man's land, once proverbially known as “The Jungle,” it now surrounded a recently built men's shelter. Just below that and across the street was the huge dig for the new sewage treatment plant. Maybe that's where my attacker has escaped to, I thought. Maybe he's hiding down in the muddy depths of the enormous excavation.

“When is McBride due back?” Arbuckle demanded.

“Soon I hope,” I answered, still looking out into the darkness.

“Had you told me all of this earlier today—and about your personal involvement—I would have been able to offer you some protection. You're a target, and you're playing a very dangerous game here.”

“I know. It was stupid. I think I was in shock this afternoon.” I turned abruptly and stared at them. “Oh my god!”

“What's happening, Roz?” Harvie stood up.

“I've just put two and two together. I….Yes, it makes sense. We have to go now—no time to lose!”

“Go where?” Harvie asked.

I turned to Arbuckle. “Can you find somebody who can get us into the treatment plant excavation? That's what my attacker meant when he said she was in deep shit, and that's what she meant by ‘muddy death.' I think they've got Sophie down there!”

As Arbuckle stared back at me, there was an explosion of barking from out back. The police dogs had found something. We grabbed our coats and went out through the kitchen door and down into the yard. It was dark and very cold. There was a brisk north wind coming off the harbour and it was starting to snow. The gate was built to be indistinguishable from the fence; I showed Arbuckle where to unlatch it. We made our way towards the source of the noise and flashing lights, to where the dogs and several officers were focused.

What they had found was not the perpetrator but a long-time occupant of The Jungle who was too inebriated to be let into the homeless shelter for the night. He was doing his best to stay out of the elements by hunkering down under a tree in a haphazard structure made out of old, wind-whipped plastic, fallen branches and sheets of cardboard. He'd been unsuccessfully attempting to ignite a few twigs when he had been discovered by the dogs. His late-night cocktail appeared to be a can of Lysol, which would account for his completely docile stupor. Mercifully, the cops opted to move him to a cell for the night. They called in the paddy wagon and then huddled together in a brief meeting.

Arbuckle called a halt to the search out back, but instructed the dog wrangler to stand by at the station while he organized our visit to the excavation site. He assumed there would be a security guard there, but he wanted someone in authority to accompany us. His plan was to go to the station, track down a project manager from the engineering firm, then come back and get us. Harvie and I saw him to the front door. As he left I couldn't stop myself from blurting out, “Please be quick. Every second counts.”

As soon as he was out the door, I ran upstairs to change into warmer layers and find a coat for Harvie to put on over the light jacket he had worn.

“No point in getting pneumonia,” I said to Harvie, handing him a heavy wool coat.

“Good idea Roz, thanks. And do you have a hat? Like a toque or something for this bald head of mine?”

“Sure. I can find you something…Won't be a minute.”

I scurried back upstairs and into the spare room, where there was an old trunk in which I kept winter clothes. The overhead light was burnt out so I had to make my way across the room in the dark to turn on the bedside lamp. I thought I heard a noise coming from the closet and I stopped cold. Suddenly the cat leaped up onto the spare bed. “Oh aren't you everywhere,” I said to her, turning on the lamp.

I went over to the trunk and lifted the lid. I was digging through old mitts and scarves when a shadow caught my peripheral attention. “I'm sure I remember seeing a wool toque in here, Harvie.” There was no reply. I turned and there in front of me like a living nightmare was my scar-faced attacker. I opened my mouth to scream but he was too fast. He clapped his hand over my mouth.

“We've had enough noise from you tonight,” he said as he ripped a cloth belt from a hook on the closet door and wrapped it around my mouth. He hissed into my ear, “All those pigs trying to track me down and where was I? Halfway up the iron ladder on the back of your house! The idiots never even looked up. By the time they got the dogs here, I was already inside. You should learn to lock your bathroom window.” He was grinning as he forced me down onto a straight-backed chair. I winced when he tied my hands behind me with a leather cord from his pocket. He closed the spare room door and leaned on it, looking at me.

“Okay. We know the kid brought the file to the girl's apartment and we know you went there after we delivered the cellphone. You must have taken the file because it didn't just disappear into thin air, and I don't believe you gave it to the police. Now if you want to save your friend, you'll tell me where it is.”

Just then I heard a voice in the hall. It was Harvie. “Roz? Are you ready? They'll be back to get us in a couple of minutes.”

I started to grunt as loudly as I could. I tried to make my grunts sound like “NO.” The attacker stepped aside so the door would mask him when it opened. More frantic no-grunts from me.

“Roz? Are you ok?” Harvie pushed the door open and looked at me. My eyes darted to behind the door to alert him—but of course it was too late.