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Sam hung up with a warning that Ortez would be in touch with me. When Ortez called, it was to ask me to come to the station. He said it was an interview, but I knew better. The opioids they’d found in conjunction with a death in their family meant I’d be questioned until an answer they could use fell out. My B&E had been knocked into homicide territory.
I stored my fake ID in the hotel safe and left the building the way I’d arrived, ghosting and travelling to Pacific Centre mall to re-form in the food court’s washroom. I then walked to the street and hailed a cab to take me to the station.
Ortez led me to a windowless room where three solemn-faced detectives had gathered. They hunched over their notepads with pens at the ready. Sam wasn’t present. He’d explained that when it came to investigating an officer’s death, professional courtesy extended free rein to the team interviewing internal operatives. He would be subjected to the same questioning. Refusal would cause an irreparable tear in both of our reputations.
After introductions, I expressed my condolences.
“Thank you,” Ortez said. “Ingram was a fine officer. We’re going to find the person responsible. Whoever it was broke into your apartment and spiked your milk to kill you. That’s where this investigation starts. With you.”
He and his team waded in gently with the questions. I stuck to my official caseload, the most recent being investment fraud at the Chinese embassy, and before that, the drug trafficking case involving the Cooper brothers. They dug deeper and quizzed me about my inheritance and my recent trip to California. They asked about my relationships with the Kirks and Reynoldses, and with James and Avery.
Ortez leaned back in his chair. He upended his pen and tapped it on his notepad. “This isn’t the first time someone has targeted you, is it, Emelynn?” His tone leaked frustration.
“No. Carson Manse was a madman, but he’s no longer a threat.”
“Looks like you’ve recovered from the injuries he inflicted.” Ortez’s statement felt like an indictment. Being whipped caused more than physical injuries.
“Are you questioning my mental stability?”
“I’m questioning everything.” Ortez picked up his notepad. “Two of the four men responsible for your abduction were killed at the scene. One was never caught and Manse escaped custody. Is that right?”
I nodded and he continued. “The records show Manse and the associate of his who’d escaped were shot and killed by the Reynoldses’ security team last year while trying to break into the family’s estate in California.”
“Manse and his associate were both armed at the time,” I said. Theirs were the only two deaths officially associated with the massacre at Cairabrae. It was the deal agreed upon by the Tribunal and Cain’s ICO team the night they struck their bargain.
Ortez closed his notepad. “I’ve read the records. Cut-and-dry self-defence. Doesn’t it seem odd, though? The last two men connected to your ordeal, both dead? That’s a tidy wrap-up, isn’t it? Big bow on top. And shortly after that, you turn up working as an operative for Jordan.”
The digging, I didn’t mind. I’d expected as much. But his accusatory tone was an unpleasant surprise. “What are you suggesting?”
He reached across the table, grabbed a clear plastic evidence bag and dropped it in front of me. My bracelet had been stripped of the locket that had held ICO’s tracker. I’d left the bracelet behind in the condo when I met with the covey.
“The only thing our sweep of your condo found was the RF transmitter hidden in a locket on that bracelet.”
I feigned ignorance, told them I’d picked up the bracelet at a flea market in the States. “Perhaps the previous owner of that bracelet was the target,” I said. I gave them a date for the purchase—a date when I’d been in California—but when I couldn’t identify a specific flea market, they suggested I was lying. I should have known ICO’s trackers wouldn’t be off-the-rack varieties. They even brought Sam’s integrity into question.
“What kind of an operative are you, anyway?” Ortez asked.
I didn’t bite. Ortez rested his elbows on his chair’s armrests and twisted his pen, studying me. “Constable Ingram’s autopsy came in a few hours ago. Apparently, she suffered an aneurysm. A brain bleed.”
Damn. It wasn’t Cain. Could only be a Flier. “Why do you say apparently?”
“No one in this room believes Ingram died of natural causes. And you’re not nearly as pissed off about this line of questioning as you should be.”
I shoved my chair back and stood.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“Are you detaining me?”
“Not yet, but this investigation is not over. We’ll be keeping an eye on you. There are way too many coincidences and unanswered questions where you’re concerned, Emelynn.”
“I’m sorry one of your officers died answering my security alarm. Her death is tragic no matter what the cause. In your rush to judgment, I hope you don’t forget that someone tried to poison me. If I can help with that, let me know.”
I turned and walked to the door. My hand was on the doorknob when Ortez spoke. “Your condo has been cleared. You can move back in.”
His I dare you went unspoken. I walked out and avoided the temptation to go directly to Sam. He’d be next, no doubt, and with a lot more to lose than I had. I prayed he wouldn’t give anything away.
I returned to my hotel room under a cloud. Fear and anger fought for space in my gut. Who wanted me dead? I ran through everyone I knew. I could think of a few Fliers who might be angry with me, some who didn’t like me, but enough to kill me?
My thoughts drifted to the Mansfield Group and Dad’s accident. Could someone have learned of the search for the wreckage? Someone who would be threatened by what we might find? I resisted thinking about the possibility that Mason and Stuart were behind it, but given my father’s warning, I couldn’t dismiss it. The thought made me sick to my stomach.
It occurred to me I needed to call Avery and fill him in. He needed to be prepared in case the police called him. The worry in his voice nibbled away at my conscience long after we’d hung up.
My cellphone didn’t ring again until the next morning. It was Sam looking for my room number.
“It’s 1508. Why?”
“Because I’m in the lobby and I’d rather not have to ask the front desk. See you in five.”
When I opened the door, he was quick to get inside and close it.
“You’re out of your bunker?”
“Yup. First chance I got after Cain got pushed out of the suspect pool.” He’d obviously come to the same conclusion I had: only a Flier could have caused Constable Ingram’s brain bleed.
“How’d your interview with Ortez go?” I asked.
“Much like yours, I expect.” He tossed his jacket on the bed exposing the gun in his shoulder holster and the badge on his hip.
I ordered coffee and we compared notes. Afterwards, Sam sat back in his chair. “I’m impressed, Taylor. Six months ago you wouldn’t have been able to contain yourself through an interview like that.”
“Thanks, though I’m not sure getting better at taking abuse is a good thing.”
“Don’t be too hard on Ortez. He’s a good cop. He’s trying to do right by Ingram and her partner.”
“Yeah, I get that. If I could hand over the guilty party, I’d do it. Sure would make my life easier. What are the odds that someone has learned what the Mansfield Group is up to?”
“Small, hopefully. We were clear up front about the need for confidentiality.”
I thought about something Sebastian mentioned at the caucus: there were no guarantees when humans were involved. A seemingly harmless comment could expose us. “I wish I could say that eliminates anyone threatened by the search for Dad’s wreckage. Has Mansfield had any hits?”
“None. And that reminds me. They want another payment. I’ll send you their invoice.”
Sam finished his coffee and set his cup on the table. “You told me that taking the seat on the Tribunal put a few noses out of joint. Anyone’s nose in particular?”
“At least three, including Sebastian’s, but I don’t think it was them. If it was six months from now, maybe, but getting rid of me so soon after the caucus would be too obvious. Besides which, a Tribunal player wouldn’t have botched it. I’d be dead now.”
“That leaves us looking for a Flier, and odds are you know them.”
“That’s a comforting thought.”
Sam laughed then stood and stretched. He walked to the window and pulled the curtain aside. “I spoke to Walter Gorman yesterday.”
“Who’s he?”
“The doctor who supervised your father when he was in residency. Gorman’s in his late nineties now. He still remembers your dad, though. Had very nice things to say about him.”
“That’s good to hear. Thanks for telling me. What else are you learning about my dad?”
“Nothing that raises a flag. At least not yet. That may change when I move my focus to Jolene.”
“Be careful. Searching for Jolene is what triggered Manse and the Reynoldses to find me. They won’t like that you’re digging into her past.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
My hand nervously strayed to the coffee-service tray and lined up the silver milk and sugar pots. “I think I should move back to the condo.”
Sam whipped around.
“Hear me out,” I said. “My hiding in here isn’t getting us anywhere. But if I’m back home, whoever did this might be tempted to try again. I’ll be ready for them next time.”
Sam rested his hands on his hips and stared at the floor. “Ortez will be watching. Might scare whoever it is off.”
“A Flier won’t be using the front door.”
––––––––
ORTEZ HADN’T EVEN BOTHERED with an unmarked. A cruiser was parked on the street outside the condo building when I arrived ninety minutes later. It was one o’clock. I stood in the hall outside the door to my condo. Sam stood beside me with a shopping bag in his hand. “You’d better have that lock changed,” he said, as I inserted my key.
Inside, the place looked like it had a hangover from a frat party. I dropped my bag in the bedroom. Sam peered in from the hall. “I might as well get started,” I said, looking at the mess.
“Me too,” Sam said. “Where are your tools?”
I directed him to the shelf in the hall closet and set about straightening. Every drawer had been searched; every shoe, boot and garment had been checked. They’d been thorough but respectful. I lined up my shoes, straightened the hangers and tidied the drawers. A similar situation awaited me in every room, but the kitchen was by far the worst. I collected the medical waste from the floor and went to toss it, but the garbage bin was gone. I dumped the garbage in a shopping bag and added waste bin to the growing shopping list.
Next, I tackled the fingerprint dust. Mom had instructed me to vacuum up as much as I could first and use a mild soap-and-water solution to dissolve the rest. What did it say about our family that mother and daughter could share that particular cleaning tip?
My phone rang before I finished, but I didn’t have to answer it. When I picked it up, the screen was lit with a live stream of the view from the rooftop door. Sam’s face moved in to fill the screen and he waved. Moments later, he returned to the condo.
“How’d it look?” he asked.
“Good,” I said, and showed him.
“If a Flier shows up on the roof, you’ll know. The camera is motion activated and mounted in the door frame. Change the ringtone for it to something unique.”
After Sam left, I found a barking-dog ringtone—sounded like a perfect fit. Then I finished cleaning and made myself a cup of tea. I curled up on the sofa and cradled the oversized mug. It occurred to me that having someone try to kill you wasn’t unlike experiencing grief. The stages weren’t linear, but I recognized them. Denial, anger, bargaining, shades of depression and, finally, acceptance. I planted my flag in the anger arena.
In light of our new pact, I phoned Sebastian with the latest news. He was suitably incensed that a Flier was responsible, but like me, had no idea who it might have been. He tossed out names like playing cards. Nothing stuck.
“I’ve got the perfect distraction for you,” Sebastian said.
“I don’t need a distraction. I need to figure out who’s trying to kill me.”
“Trust me. You’ll appreciate this. I’ll be there in an hour.”
He hung up on me. I guess not everything about the man had changed.
I headed to the shower and scrubbed the charcoal-coloured dust from under my nails. With my hair still wet, I ran out to pick up some milk and coffee cream. The rest of the groceries would have to wait until after Sebastian’s visit. A fresh pot of coffee was brewed when Colin called to tell me I had company.
Sebastian wasn’t alone when I opened the door. His perfect distraction stood beside him.
“This is Ben Nicolson, the architect I’ve been telling you about.”
I wasn’t sure what I’d expected Sebastian’s architect to look like, but a thirty-something rock star in Rag & Bone jeans wasn’t it.
He clutched a laptop under one arm. I extended my hand. “Emelynn Taylor. Come in.”
Sebastian walked his architect down the hall ahead of me as if he owned the place. They walked straight to the living room and stood in front of the view. I felt like the help coming up behind them offering coffee.
They didn’t turn from the view until I set the tray on the coffee table. Ben raked a hand through perfectly dishevelled hair. He accepted the cup I held out to him and took a seat opposite the sofa. Sebastian took the other chair.
We had the you-have-a-lovely-place conversation followed by Sebastian praising Ben’s work. Ben got points for looking embarrassed about it, and he wiggled out of the conversation with an offer to show me some of his recent projects online. He moved to sit beside me on the sofa and opened his laptop.
He took me through a half dozen impressive before-and-after layouts on his website, including the work he’d done on Sebastian’s Point Grey home. He pointed out details I would have missed and talked about how important he felt it was to stay true to the original design. Sebastian refilled his coffee and turned his chair to the view.
Ben spoke with the fervour of someone who loved his work. “It’s difficult to appreciate the results on such a small scale,” he said, referring to his screen. “They’re much more impressive in person. Perhaps I could arrange a time to show them to you?”
“Sure,” I said, and briefly wondered if selecting an architect was like buying a car: kick the tires and take him out for a spin.
“Good,” he said. “I hope you don’t mind, but when Sebastian told me about the arson, and that you might rebuild, I did some research.” He went back to his computer and opened a different file.
I pushed to the edge of my seat. “Where did you get that?” I said, looking at a black-and-white photograph of my cottage I’d never seen before.
“City archives. Your home was the first one built on the Cliffside bluff in 1918. Frank and Nelly Thomas were the original owners.”
“This must have been taken when it was brand new,” I said. “These trees are fully grown now, and there’s a garage over here,” I said, mesmerized by the photograph. “Would you please send me that?”
“What’s your email address?” With a few clicks, he sent it on its way. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go out there and take a look at the property. Get a feel for it. Take some photos. See the neighbourhood.”
“Please do.”
You’d think I’d granted him a wish the way his smile lit up his face. “Thank you. I’ll send you my preliminary thoughts. If they appeal to you, perhaps we can work together to build you a new home.” He closed his laptop and stood.
I stood as well. “Thanks for making the time to come and see me today. I hope Sebastian didn’t drag you away from another commitment.”
“No worries. It’s been my pleasure. I’ll be in touch.” He shook my hand.
Sebastian came to stand beside us. “I’ll walk you out.”
They turned down the hall and I caught myself wondering if Ben’s jeans would suit James. James. I reached for my phone like an addict for a fix. It had been four days with no word from him. Was this really the end for us?
Thankfully, I didn’t have long to wallow in that thought. Sebastian returned and handed me Ben’s card. “He forgot to give you that.”
“Thanks. He sounds enthusiastic.”
“He’s an impressive young man. Ambitious, but you have to be to stake a claim in his business.”
I screwed up my face. “Renos?”
“Renos keep the money coming in, but it’s projects like yours that build a reputation. Those projects don’t come along every day.”
“I hope you didn’t promise him anything.”
“An introduction is all. I trust it wasn’t too painful.” He raised an eyebrow.
I bit back a smile. Funny was new for Sebastian. I picked up the coffee tray and walked it to the kitchen. When I returned, Sebastian had wandered into the dining room and stood in front of Jolene’s painting.
I joined him. “Mason told me you knew Jolene,” I said. He’d told me Sebastian and Jolene had dated before Jolene met my father.
“Yes, a long time ago.”
“Tell me about her.”
“She was a mystery. Beautiful. Rebellious. Stuart hoped she’d choose someone like us to settle down with, but she seemed determined to find a match outside of our circles. Your father, for example. Tragic what happened to them. Jolene wasn’t lucky in love. After your dad, she almost married twice. In Greece, she fell for a man who owned an olive plantation. Years later, in New York, she fell for a banker. They weren’t Fliers. Would have been terrible matches.”
“You’re forgetting Carson Manse.”
“Yes,” he said, and spared me a glance. “He was the worst of her suitors by far.”
“What happened to the man in Greece and the one in New York?”
He returned his gaze to the painting. “They didn’t work out. It was hard on her, but it was for the best. Her life would have been so much easier with one of us. Someone who understood the life of a Ghost.”
“Somehow, I don’t think she’d agree.”
“She deserved better.”
“You loved her.”
“I cared for her once. Jolene was fragile. I felt protective of her, especially after she lost her son. But I’d found Kimberley by then, and never looked back.”
“I wish I’d known her.”
Sebastian dragged his gaze from Jolene’s painting and sighed. “Sadly, we can’t change the past. I am, however, glad you and I have found a new accord.”
“Me too.”
“There are times I recognize Jolene’s gift in you. Maybe that’s why I put in the extra effort where you’re concerned. And now that I’ve done my good deed for the day, I must go.”
I walked him out. When I returned to the living room, I dusted off my laptop and looked up Ben Nicolson. He’d been careful about his public profile, filling it with photos of beautiful architecture and fine art rather than drunken party shots. There wasn’t a bad photo of him anywhere. He must be one of those fortunate photogenic types, I thought.
Later that afternoon, a locksmith showed up. He was in and out faster than his bill suggested, but I was happy to have the lock changed. I wondered if I’d ever get the chance to give James a key.
With nothing left to keep me busy, I wrapped my head in a scarf, donned sunglasses and headed for the grocery store. The constable in the cruiser out front didn’t recognize me as I passed by. It occurred to me they would know who Ben Nicolson was by now, though I doubted Sebastian had allowed himself to be tagged.
I’d made it back home and was folding the grocery bags when Mason called. I stared at the screen, torn between needing to answer it and wanting to keep him at bay. I answered.
“Why am I learning about an attempt on your life from Sebastian?” were the first words out of his mouth.
“Sorry. It’s been crazy here since the break-in and the constable’s death. The police are hovering.”
“You are a Tribunal member. The consequences of this reach far beyond the police or their judicial system.”
“Not right now. Not with the police on my doorstep. There’s no need for your concern. Sam’s involved and Sebastian’s been around. I’m in good hands.”
“They aren’t your family. You should have called.”
His words struck me dumb. Was he my family? It pained me that I couldn’t be certain. It’s why I hadn’t called him.
“Emelynn? What is it?”
My voice hitched. “There’s nothing you could have done.”
A moment of silence followed. He then asked for a blow-by-blow of every detail of events before, during and after the break-in. He asked questions that might have convinced a less-jaded person that he hadn’t been involved. It saddened me to know that was no longer me.
The conversation left me exhausted. I stared at my reflection in the bathroom mirror and wondered who I’d become. I still looked the same, but inside I felt hollow, numb, detached. For the first time since I’d put them on, I removed the earrings James had given me and returned them to the box they’d come in.
