Alison flipped open her laptop and checked online. Good. There was nothing in the news yet about another murder in the Humber Valley. Her dad was giving her a scoop, but she had to talk to him first before she phoned it in to Persaud.
She smiled to herself. It was a good thing that Burns hadn’t taken her up on her invitation to come back home with her. Last night, there had been that moment on the Danforth Bridge after their first kiss when everything seemed to hang in the air. Neither of them spoke.
She walked with him in silence into the city. When they got to a quiet park, they held hands. They arrived at her streetcar stop, and there was no one around and only a few cars passed by them. So unlike London. Even though Toronto was a big city, there were pockets that were very quiet.
“I should be getting home,” she said.
“Thanks for volunteering.”
“I enjoyed it.”
She looked over his shoulder and saw the streetcar approaching.
“That’s my streetcar,” she said.
She looked back at him and their eyes met.
“Well,” she said. Wondering if she should invite him over and wondering what he would say if she did.
“Well,” he said. He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back.
“Do you want to pop over?” she decided to ask him. “The streetcar won’t be crowded, so you can bring your bike on it.”
“It’s late for you, isn’t it?” he said, letting go of her hand. “You said you were up all night.”
“And I’m on assignment tomorrow morning. I do have to be up early…”
The streetcar was pulling up to the stop.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I’ve got things to do…”
He was being vague. Does that mean he has things to do with another woman? she wondered. She gave him a quick hug. He kissed her on the cheek.
“Later,” she said before getting on board.
There was almost no one on the streetcar. She’d taken a window seat and looked out. Still standing on the sidewalk, he’d waved at her before getting on his bike and riding off.
She closed her laptop, tossed back her bed covers and threw on some clothes. She was glad Burns hadn’t come, after all. She hadn’t told him that her dad was the head of the homicide squad, the person Burns was publicly criticizing. Besides, she had work to do.
She headed upstairs. Her father had made tea, and she sat down across from him and started to drink while they talked.
“How much can you tell me about this murder?” she asked him.
“A woman was murdered on the golf course, not in the valley. I can’t say more.”
The tea was nicely warm, not too hot. She took another deep sip. Her father always tried to look cool and objective, but she could see he was upset. How could he not be? Three murders in less than a week.
“Can you tell me her name?”
“Not until we notify the next of kin.”
He took a pad of paper and wrote something on it, folded it. “I’m leaving in a minute. Look at this when I’m gone. You’re going to want to do some background research on the victim by yourself. Only you, no one else. Everything you need to know about her will be online. You can’t broadcast her name until I give you the heads-up.”
He passed the paper over to her.
“Thanks, I’ll wait. Can you tell me when it happened?”
He shook his head. “Some time last night, that’s all I have right now.”
“Dad, off the record, do you have a suspect?”
“Off the record? Maybe.”
“There’s a serial killer on the loose, isn’t there?”
“No matter what I say, we both know that’s going to be the headline news today.”
She got up, went over to him, and held his hand.
“Three people dead,” he whispered.
She gave him a long hug. “You’ll catch the killer. I know you will.” She kissed him on the cheek. That got a smile out of him.
“I’ve got to go,” he said.
Back in her bedroom, Alison was about to call Persaud at the TV station when her phone pinged with a text. It was from Burns. “Nice to see you last night. Hope we can ‘volunteer’ together again.”
She grinned at his gentle flirting. She had to call Persaud. But it would only take a second to text him back.
Her phone pinged again. A second text from Burns. One word. “Soon.”
She hit the reply button and wrote: “Good idea. Busy day ahead.” She paused. Should she tell him about the new murder? Even before she told Persaud? She pushed send.
She waited a few seconds to see if he’d reply. He did.
“Busy. What’s happening?” he texted back.
“Third victim. Another woman. Horrible,” she typed. She stopped and looked at the words. Maybe she wasn’t being one hundred per cent professional, but this was terrible, and she wanted to share it with someone who really cared. She pushed send.
Before he could text her back, she called Persaud.