"There's a Doctor Chisholm here to see you," the officer behind the desk on the main floor told Chris over the intercom. "He says he's from the medical examiner's office."
"I know him. Send him up."
While he waited for the doctor, Chris wondered what could have led the overworked pathologist to come all the way downtown from Bowness, where the medical exam-iner's office was located. As soon as he had word from the tenth-floor receptionist that his visitor had arrived, he went out to greet him. He found the doctor, a rotund little man, perched uneasily on the plastic chair in the tiny waiting room. Wearing an identification tag around his neck and clutching a black medical bag in his lap, he was staring bemusedly at the brightly coloured children's toys scattered around the room. The only other occupant was a sullen, scraggly-bearded young man.
"What's with the toys?" Chisholm asked as he followed Chris a short distance to a room marked "Interview."
"Child Abuse. They're on this floor too. They're another section of Major Crimes." Chris unlocked the door of the interview room and waved the doctor in. Chris had dealt with him on a couple of homicides while he was with the FCSU, and he recalled that Chisholm took a keen interest in the criminal investigative process. Putting his bag down on the table, the pathologist punched in a code to unlock it and carefully lifted out a small plastic evidence bag.
"I'll ask you to sign a receipt for this. Preserve the chain of evidence, you know." The pathologist lingered lovingly over the technical words.
Chris hastily scrawled his signature on the form, pulled on the latex gloves Chisholm handed him, and sat back with an anticipatory gleam in his eyes. "Is that what I think it is?" he whispered as he saw what his visitor had brought.
It was a small triangular piece of plastic, less than two centimetres in length, a deep dark red in colour. It could only be part of a car's tail, or brake, light.
"Where did this come from?" asked Chris, gazing reverently down at the fragment.
"From the vic herself!" Chisholm's use of "vic" made Chris reflect that the good doctor had been watching too many cop shows on television. Some of the younger police officers were beginning to pick up on "vic" and "perp" as well. This stray thought somewhere in the far reaches of Chris's brain didn't prevent him from listening with avid attention to what the pathologist was saying. "I found it when I inserted my finger into the top of her small intestine. The gastrointestinal tract is almost always complete and functional in cases of anthrogryposis congenita multi-forma," Chisholm pronounced the name of the disability with relish. "It develops early and high up in the fetus." Chris, who knew this from his research, nodded, and the physician continued with a complacent, self-satisfied air, "Many pathologists don't pay proper attention to the intestines and concentrate on the stomach contents. Once they have analyzed those, they think they're finished. But in my clinic we always check the intestines. I've made it part of the clinic's protocol."
Chris had heard the ebullient doctor call the exam-iner's office a clinic in the past, and then, as now, thought it must be a clinic for the dead. But Chisholm could call it paradise if he liked, for it had come up with this promising clue. The first tangible clue to surface during the entire investigation. It was Joan who had provided it. How brave and resourceful she had been! Somehow the serial must have smashed the light, maybe backed into a pole or a wall, and Joan, realizing she was going to be killed and knowing there would be an autopsy, had managed to swallow the broken piece. She was probably lying on the ground at the time and sucked it up.
"If you found it in the small intestine, she must have ingested it some time before she was killed?"
"Four hours. That's how long it would take to end up there."
Jesus! She had been kept alive all that time while the sadistic brute did whatever he wanted with her. As he had with Maud Simpson, the Ranchmen's Club receptionist. Chris would always think of her as a victim of convenience, who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time and had the misfortune to be spotted by the killer when he was out hunting. Maybe it had been the same with his other victims.
But Joan was no victim of convenience. She had been a target deliberately selected because of her perceived friendship with him. The ache in his jaw, which had been gradually subsiding, suddenly flared up. But he had to put that aside and concentrate on the clue she had given him, and use it to track down her killer. While these thoughts ran through his mind, Chris held the plastic fragment up for closer inspection. A raised ridge ran along the bottom, and above it the lettering "T2" was easily discernible.
"That shape after the two looks like it could be a part of a D," Chris muttered. "But the Hit and Run Unit will be able to tell us for sure. That and a whole lot more."
Ron Donlevy, the Hit and Run detective, folded the magnifying glass into its case and handed the plastic fragment back to Chris. "What you're dealing with is an older model Toyota Corolla. Manufactured sometime between 1997 and 2000. That plus the fact that it's from the tail light is all I can tell you."
"That's a good start."
"Where do you want to go from here, Chris? You said it was top secret. My ears only."
"That's the way I want it to be. I'm banking on the killer not knowing what's happened. Oh"—he raised a hand to forestall Donlevy's objection—"he'll know that he broke a tail light, but the chances are he won't know that Jo—the victim swallowed that piece of plastic."
"That must have been some woman!"
"She was." Chris's expression was bleak. "The perpetrator could still be driving around with a broken tail light, or he could have taken it somewhere to be fixed. He would need a police damage sticker for that, wouldn't he?"
The Hit and Run detective gave a dubious nod. "Technically, yes. But for something like a tail light, some garages wouldn't worry too much about that. But he should have a sticker. No doubt about that."
"If we start making inquiries we run the risk of alerting our guy. But I need to start somewhere, Ron. Would you get a list of Toyota owners in the Calgary area from the motor vehicles branch? Make that southern Alberta. Coming from Hit and Run, it won't raise questions."
"Sure, I can do that. It will be one hell of a long list, though."
"That's okay. Let me know when you have it, and I'll pick it up."
"I'll get on it." Donlevy's chair scraped on the tile floor of the restaurant. "Thanks for the coffee and doughnut."
Arriving back at headquarters, Chris was immediately aware of the buzz of excitement percolating through the Homicide section. He soon learned the excitement was caused by Steve Mason's success in solving an Asian gang killing.
Mason had been interrogating two subjects, both members of the same gang—first one, then the other—for hours, and had somehow managed to persuade one of them to implicate his partner as the one who had done the stabbing. Solidarity among gang members was legendary, and it was almost unheard-of for one to turn on another.
"How in the hell did you do it?" demanded Patterson.
"Yeah," another of the detectives clustered around Mason's desk chimed in. "They don't talk. Period. They swear some kind of an oath."
"I told him something more powerful than any oath," replied a beaming Mason. "I told him the other guy said his mother was a whore."
"That don't seem all that terrible. That gang runs prostitutes along with drugs."
"But the point is, Cheung knew it was true. He knew his mother had been a prostitute when she was younger. She did it to put food on the table after her husband, Cheung's father, was killed in a drive-by shooting. Cheung knew she had done it for him and he worshipped her. Beat the crap out of some of his classmates at school when they gave him a hard time about it."
"How the devil did you know that?" Patterson was impressed. "That sort of stuff is buried deep in the Asian community."
Mason hesitated, then replied with a show of defiance, "Gord told me. How Cheung felt about his mother. Gord figured it would push his buttons. And he was right!"
The assembled Homicide detectives exchanged glances; a couple of them nodded knowingly. "Old Starlight sure knew his ethnics," muttered one.
Cheeks flaming a dangerous red, Mason heaved himself to his feet. "Don't call him that! Ralston was a good cop. A damn sight better than some I know!" Glaring, he slowly lowered himself back down into his chair.
A detective who had previously remained silent looked as though he was about to dispute the point, but Patterson forestalled him by sincerely congratulating Mason on his successful collar.
"You're right, you know." Another detective leaned over Mason as the little group broke up. "Gord was a good cop, and he sure didn't deserve to get shafted the way he did. Give him my best when you see him."
Chris, who had remained on the fringe of the group and had taken no part in the discussion, returned to his desk, where the coloured photo of Nevermore glowed out at him. Minutes later, he had a call on his cellphone.
"We have a hit," Ron Donlevy announced. "A Toyota sedan, Alberta licence plate PUR 714, is parked on the south side of 17th Avenue in the 500 block. It has a broken tail light and no sticker. Parking Control just called it in."
"Do you have the name of the owner?"
"We're running that now. I'll call you back in five."
Chris compulsively checked his wristwatch as the five minutes turned into twenty, and snatched up his cell as soon as he heard the first note of the ring tone.
"The owner of the Toyota is one Grant Sylvester, who resides at 621 13th Avenue South West."
"That's one block east of the Ranchmen's Club. Interesting."
"I know what you're thinking. The address is a mix of rental apartments and condominiums. What they call an apartment-condo."
"Let's pay Mr. Sylvester a visit. It's 5:ffl. He should be home by now."
"Yeah. If nothing else, he's already committed an offence by driving around without a sticker."
"That'll be a good opening. Let's see how it goes from there. And, Ron, run a check on David Lambert. He's a professor up at the law school. See what make of vehicle he drives."
"What's it about?" Sylvester's voice echoed hollowly in the intercom.
"It's the police. We have a few questions we need to ask you, Mr. Sylvester. Let us in, please."
Standing in the narrow, confined entry, Chris and Donlevy watched the elevator door open and a man, forty-ish, casually dressed in blue jeans and T-shirt, walk across the foyer to stand on the other side of the glass door. "Let me see your badges," he mouthed through the glass, and reluctantly opened the door when the detectives obliged.
"We can talk here. What's the problem?" Sylvester looked more puzzled than concerned.
"You have been reported for having a damaged vehicle without a sticker," Donlevy informed him.
"You're here about that?" Sylvester's eyebrows shot up in genuine astonishment. "It's only a tail light, for Christ's sake!"
"It's an offence under the Traffic Safety Act. How did it happen, sir?"
"I was stopped at a stop sign when the guy behind me bumped into me. I'm sure it was deliberate. But I didn't stay around to find out. I know that's how some of these bandits work. They rob you when you get out to inspect the damage. I looked in the rear-view mirror and saw it was an SUV with a bumper guard. Perfect for that little game. And it wasn't in the best part of town, either."
"Where was that, sir?" Donlevy was making notes.
The two detectives exchanged glances when he mentioned a street in the east end. It was a known stroll, although by no means one of the main ones. It was also deserted in the evening except for sex trade workers and drug dealers. The residents tended to stay indoors at night.
"When did this happen?" asked Chris.
"The night before last." Sylvester looked at Chris as though it had just dawned on him. "What did you say your name was?"
"Crane. Detective Chris Crane."
"Now I get it. You're the detective investigating the serial murders. You've been in the papers a lot. That crippled woman who was killed. That's why you're here. You think I had something to do with that? Jesus Christ!" Sylvester looked increasingly alarmed as he spoke. "I'm no killer, man!"
"If that's right, there is no need for you to be concerned, sir. We're just here to follow up a lead. It's a process of eliminating possible suspects."
"Well, I am concerned. Damn concerned! There have been too fucking many cases where the police arrest some poor bastard just so they can say they solved the case."
"All you have to do is to account for your actions Thursday night and early Friday morning. So far you've told us you were driving along Forbes Street when you got bumped from behind. What time was that?
"Just after nine."
"You didn't get out of your car. Very wise. What did you do after that?"
"Well, I didn't stay around there, I can tell you."
When the two detectives continued to stare at him in silence, he shrugged. "You know what I was up to."
"We're not concerned about that," Chris assured him. "Just tell us what you did."
"I drove over to the stroll on 3rd and cruised around for a bit before ... before I connected."
"Can you describe the person you connected with?" Donlevy had spent three years with Sex Crimes before transferring to Hit and Run.
"She wasn't all that young. Thirty, maybe. But she looked, you know, kind of experienced and broad-minded. Know what I mean? She had great legs." A reminiscent smile played across Sylvester's face.
"Long red hair?"
"Yeah! That's why I picked her."
"It's a wig."
"What? It couldn't be! It didn't come off ..."
"It's pretty firmly secured," Donlevy replied dryly. "That's Rebecca. She should be on her corner across from the Westin by now. Why don't we go and hear what she has to tell us?"
"It's cool, Becky."
"If you say so, Ron." The prostitute's wary look relaxed. "I thought you weren't in Sex Crimes anymore?"
"I'm not. And that's not what this is about. All we need to know is whether you recognize this gentleman." He stepped back so she could see Sylvester sitting in the passenger seat. "Like I told you, it's cool," he said when she shot him a suspicious look. "There's no heat, for you or him, so long as you tell us the truth."
"Yeah. I seen him."
"When?"
"Thursday night. He picked me up just before ten. We went back to his pad. It was real nice."
"How long were you with him?"
"Till after midnight. He's a big spender, and my rates get very competitive after the first hour."
"Thanks, Becky. Take care of yourself."
"I will. See you soon, lover boy," she said to the unsmiling Sylvester.
Seeing they were leaving without arresting her friend, a veteran hooker called out from across the street, "Hi ya, Ron. How're ya doin'?"
"Just great, Venus. Good to see you again." Grinning, Donlevy climbed behind the wheel.
"Satisfied?" asked Sylvester, staring straight ahead.
"It went a long way to clearing you," said Chris from the rear seat. "But we still have to impound your vehicle."
"What the hell for?"
"Routine. We could get a warrant if you object. But maybe you should bear in mind you've already committed two offences you could be charged with."
"Are you guys going to charge me?" Sylvester swung around in his seat to look at Chris.
"We could. But you've been cooperative so far, and if you continue to cooperate, I guess we can overlook a few things."
"Help yourself."
"I figure our boy is in the clear," Donlevy remarked after they had posted a uniform to guard Sylvester's Toyota until it could be towed to the police garage and were on their way back downtown.
"So do I. I can't see him tearing back out and committing a murder after spending two hours with your friend Rebecca. Besides, the timeline doesn't fit. According to the medical examiner, the victim was killed around 3:00 a.m. and she was abducted hours before that. I'm just going by the book by having his car checked out. Covering my ass, I guess."
Donlevy nodded sympathetic understanding, then said, "I've got a message," as the screen on the dash lit up. "You can scratch Lambert too," he said, as they read the information on the screen. "He drives a Mercedes E 500, black, four-door sedan."
"Kind of high-end for a college professor," grumbled a disappointed Chris.
Donlevy gave a hoot of laughter. "That from a cop who drives a Ferrari!"
"Touché." Chris grinned.
Most of the desks were still occupied when Chris returned to the tenth floor after Donlevy dropped him off. Some of the officers were on the night shift while others, like Mason, had stayed behind to fill out reports.
"Well, we can eliminate Professor Lambert," Chris announced. "Reasons to follow," he added with a wink at Gwen.
"I could have told you to forget Lambert," crowed Mason. "He's too busy fucking your ex to be running around killing women."
"You bastard!" Patterson snarled, breaking the appalled silence.
"It's true, goddammit. They've been getting it on for months. They say the husband is always the last to know. Looks like ex-husbands are too."
Chris sat frozen rigid in his chair, staring straight ahead, telling himself it was all right. Robyn was an attractive woman with a healthy sex drive. It was inevitable she would hook up with somebody. He just hoped Lambert wouldn't break her heart. But Robyn knew how to look after herself. That explained why there had been no letters to the editor from Lambert after the first one. Robyn would have shut him down. Chris booted his computer and began to type out a report of his interview with Sylvester.
As the initial shock gradually wore off, Chris asked himself how Mason had come across this juicy piece of gossip. Mason was famous for the sources he had cultivated in the course of his long career, but the university was definitely not his turf. But Mason was aware that Lambert, however briefly, had been a person of interest. He could have decided to a little investigating on his own and come across the story. There was bound to be talk about the affair on campus. Maybe he had enlisted the help of his buddy, Gordon Ralston, who had plenty of time on his hands. However he had learned about it, how he must have gloated while he waited for the most humiliating opportunity to come out with it!