As soon as they arrived back at the station, Green sent Levesque to begin work on the DNA warrants while he shut himself in his office to redraft his notes on Adam Jules to include the new revelations from Elena and the Kennedys. The deeper Jules’s involvement became, the more worrisome his absence. Deputy Chief Poulin had vetoed a missing persons report but had reluctantly agreed to an off-the-record meeting Tuesday morning.
Green was on his third reworking and ready to pack it in for the day when his phone rang. It was the front desk. “There’s an individual down here, Dylan Whyte, sir, who says he has information on the Kennedy case.”
Glancing through his half-open office door, Green spotted Gibbs bent over his phone, scribbling in his notebook. “I’ll send someone down to see him.”
“Sir, he insists on speaking to you. Well, to the head honcho that runs the show.”
To Green’s knowledge, the man’s name had not come up in the investigation. Could this be a new angle, new information, he wondered, as he told the officer to bring him up. Or just another glory-seeker.
Likely the latter, Green decided when the young man got off the elevator. The kid was one step away from a cadaver. Even his bulky parka could not disguise the protruding bones and the hollow cheeks. Jesus, Green thought, what’s he on? The man’s clothes were clearly thrift shop, but he looked too well groomed to be a street person. His face had a few fresh razor nicks and his hair was pulled back into a neat ponytail.
“Bob,” Green murmured as he walked by, “get some sandwiches and coffee and meet us down the hall.” He extended his hand to the newcomer. “Mr. Whyte? I’m Inspector Green.”
Dylan nodded towards Gibbs with a nervous laugh. “I hope that’s not Detective Brown.”
Oh boy, Green thought as he led the man down the hall. He hoped it was just nerves. In the interview room, the young man shed his parka, unwound his long wool scarf from his neck and placed a laptop case on the table between them. His body trembled with anxiety, but Green was reassured by the clear intelligence in his gaze.
The young man took a deep breath. “This is Brandon Longstreet’s computer.” He moved to open it.
Alarmed, Green stopped him. “Wait a minute, where did you get it?”
“He brought it to me and asked me to trace the source of an email he’d received. It’s all legal.”
“For you, but without a search warrant, not for me.” Green looked for a way around the procedural snag. Elena Longstreet would have his head. “Why don’t you tell me the entire story from the beginning. Who you are, what happened, and why you’ve come to the police.”
Dylan sat for a moment frowning at Green in bewilderment before the light seemed to dawn. With a nod, he embarked on his tale. Gibbs arrived with the food, and Dylan became visibly more enthusiastic as he tucked into a slice of pizza. His story came out in a flood.
“It took me awhile to figure out who he was. I’ve been barricaded in my own little world for over a month, so I haven’t really been following the story. His name was sort of familiar but I’d done some work for him before. But anyway, when I started searching his computer for other emails to and from the same person, I realized what this was—an email from this girl who’s been missing all week. When I checked news websites, I saw not only was the whole police force looking for her but it might be connected to another woman’s death. So—”
Green’s pulse leaped. “Hold it! You’re talking about a recent email from Meredith Kennedy?”
“Yes. From last night.” Dylan bit off another chunk of pizza. “It didn’t say much, just ‘safe’, but I got to wondering why Brandon didn’t bring it to you. You’re the guys investigating, and he must know you have the resources to trace this even better than me, so I got worried. I don’t want to get involved in anything criminal, or obstruct a police investigation or anything. And what if the girl was running from him, and I hand her over to him? I’m your quintessential peace and love geek, just want to study how people get along and how their play reflects their values. I...I could just have called him up and said I couldn’t find anything, but I figured he’d go to someone else, and besides, this is something the police should know, right? That she’s alive, but it looks like she’s in hiding.”
Green’s mind was racing ahead, but he said nothing. He knew he needed to let the young man make his statement in his own way, that he mustn’t ask specific questions about the contents of the computer. Gibbs too was so excited that he’d stopped taking notes, but at least he also remained quiet. This girl’s fate had consumed them for almost a week, they had explored every aspect of her life and felt they knew her very soul. They had tried not to imagine the worst. Now this! Yes, she was alive, but not yet out of danger. Technicalities stood between her and rescue.
“Is there more?” Green finally prompted, as vague as possible. Dylan hesitated. Fingered the laptop uncertainly. “He’s sent her a whole lot of emails over the week, and there’s stuff on Facebook as well, but until last night, there was nothing from her. Then this reply from a brand new Yahoo account. Like she was expecting her regular emails to be intercepted or something. The thing is, it’s hard to track an email to its exact source. It takes a lot of detective work and cross-checking. Cyberspace doesn’t know physical boundaries like we have. It’s easy to find the IP address it came from and to track down who owns that IP address, but that might be a company in Windsor or Quebec City that’s managing servers in Ottawa, St. Catherine’s, Guelph, wherever. See what I mean?”
Green nodded. He had only the vaguest idea, but it didn’t matter. He just wanted the young man to keep talking.
“I considered searching that IP address on Google to see what other emails had come from that address. Had she sent out any others? Or had someone else used it and mentioned where they were sending from? But that would take time, and I was still trying to figure out if this guy was a danger to her and if I should bring it to you guys. So I started looking at recent activity on his computer. There were a whole lot of email inquiries and website searches. Nothing rang an alarm bell until I checked his recent documents file.”
Green held his breath while Dylan gulped his coffee and once again half-opened the laptop. “I really wish I could show this to you.”
“Just keep talking.”
“I found a list he wrote last night, after he got this email. Names of people and places, with pros and cons listed beside them. Questions like ‘would she trust them, would anyone else know them?’ Places where no one would recognize her or get the Ottawa news. Then below that a list of the most likely places and people. It spooked me out. He’s got an idea where she is, and he was using me to narrow down the search. When I found that, I thought, that’s it. I’m handing this over to the cops.”
Green nodded. “You did the right thing. We don’t have any specific suspects in this case, but we do need access to all available information if we’re going to have a safe resolution to the case for all involved.” He paused, took a sip of coffee and held the young man’s gaze. “You do understand I cannot by law examine the contents of that computer without a warrant. I could get a warrant, of course—” Inwardly he winced at the likelihood of that if Elena Longstreet was on the opposing bench. “But it would take time. Do you have any further details to add to your statement?”
Dylan’s eyes held his, and Green was grateful for the intelligence reflected in them. “From that list of places and from the IP address I tracked down, I’ve got some pretty good clues where she might be. That is, where she sent the email from. Am I allowed to tell you?”
Green smiled. “As a private citizen, you’re allowed to provide me with any information you have that you consider relevant to the case.”
“Then she’s probably at someone called Tanya’s cottage, somewhere in West Quebec.”
“Tanya?”
“That’s all there was on the list. Tanya’s cottage. But the IP address could be from somewhere in the Buckingham Papineau area. I figured, cottage, Buckingham—probably go together.”
Green was already weighing the odds. Buckingham was in the heart of Quebec cottage country about an hour north east of Ottawa. He pictured rugged lakes and forested slopes settled decades ago by simple working families looking for a slip of lakeside to put out a dock and a row boat. Most of the cottages would be boarded up for the winter, with few neighbours to spy and ask questions. The locals might notice someone living there, but would be unlikely to concern themselves with news of a missing woman out of Ottawa.
If there was plenty of firewood, it was a perfect place to hide.
* * *
Dylan Whyte had no sooner left the station than Green was on the phone. First to Brandon, in the hopes that the young man would volunteer Tanya’s last name and the cottage address without Green having to betray Dylan’s involvement. Dylan had been instructed to claim failure when Brandon showed up to ask what he’d found out. Brandon’s cell phone remained unanswered, however. The hospital said he had phoned in sick, but a quick call to Elena revealed that he’d not come back home. Elena was so furious about Brandon overhearing the truth that Green didn’t ask her about Tanya. Given that a killer was still roaming free and Elena’s behaviour was far from innocent, the fewer people he tipped off to Meredith’s location, the better.
Green hung up with a glance at his watch. It was now well past five thirty, and the Major Crimes Unit was nearly deserted. Everyone had wanted to go home early. Families were decorating Christmas trees or braving shopping malls. Levesque had booked off shift on the dot, but Gibbs was still hanging around, waiting for Green’s okay. Green felt restless and impatient. He hated to leave a question unanswered.
He reached for his phone again, this time with some reluctance. He had left the Kennedys in an uproar earlier that day, upset that their daughter had found out about her adoption through a phone call from Lise Gravelle. Upset that she hadn’t trusted them enough to come to them for confirmation. Upset that she was out there alone somewhere, suffering. Or worse, dead.
When Reg answered the phone, Green hesitated about how much to disclose. He hadn’t told them about Meredith’s latest email to Brandon, but no matter how badly they had mishandled the story of her adoption, they deserved to know she was alive. But he didn’t want yet another potential player running around on the loose, any more than he’d wanted Elena. It was bad enough that Brandon was out there on his own, doing God knows what.
In the end, he elected to say nothing. “Mr. Kennedy, I’m following up on some of Meredith’s friends, in whom she might have confided about the whole adoption business. We have a name—Tanya. Do you know her last name?”
“Tanya’s out of the country.”
“Oh. But with email these days... Were she and Meredith close?”
“Pretty close. Whenever Tanya’s in the country, they...” His voice trailed off as if something had just occurred to him.
“What?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m just...you know. It’s a lot to take in.”
“Tanya’s last name?”
“I don’t know. They weren’t really that close. Tanya’s away a lot. I think I met her maybe once, a couple of years ago. My memory... I’m sorry, this has just been so hard.”
Tears clogged his voice. It was on the tip of Green’s tongue to tell him that Meredith was safe, but he stopped himself at the last moment. Muttering vague platitudes that he shouldn’t give up, he hung up. Now what?
He called Gibbs over and together they looked over the list of Meredith’s friends. Green settled on Jessica, Meredith’s maid of honour and presumably her closest friend. If anyone knew, it should be her.
“Tanya Neuss,” Jessica replied instantly. “But she’s out of the country. She’s always out of the country. I don’t know why she doesn’t sublet her place—omigod, you think Meredith might be there?”
Green thought of the latest email, sent from an IP address in West Quebec. “We’re checking all her friends’ places again. I understand there’s also a cottage?”
“Oh, it’s a dump! A beautiful piece of property, gorgeous lake, loons, ducks, perfect canoeing. But in winter? A wasteland.
No electricity, no water.”
“Where is it?”
“Up north of Buckingham somewhere. I’ve only been there once and I’d get lost if I was driving myself. Talk about boonies.”
Green jotted notes.“Thank you, that’s most helpful. Meredith’s father couldn’t remember her last name.”
“What?” Jessica snorted.“That’s ridiculous. Tanya and Meredith went to primary school together.”
Green paused. Had the man been that rattled? Or drunk? He ignored a niggle of concern as he doublechecked the spelling of Tanya’s name, thanked Jessica, and disconnected. Without missing a beat, he turned to Gibbs.
“I want you to find out the exact location of the Neuss cottage on a lake somewhere near Buckingham.”
Gibbs couldn’t mask his dismay. “There are dozens of lakes near Buckingham.”
Green glanced at his watch and cursed. Outside, the winter night had descended. It was too late to contact land registry offices and too dark to try searching the vast Quebec back country. He was dog-tired, and despite his impatience, he had nothing to justify an emergency response.
Sensing his concern, Gibbs’s gaze drifted to his computer. “I could start calling all the people called Neuss in the phone book.”
Green brightened. “Good idea, but be vague. I don’t want anyone tipped off. Call me the instant you learn anything.”
* * *
Green arrived at the office at the crack of dawn the next morning, feeling refreshed and anxious to get on with the search. He had celebrated the fourth night of Hanukkah with Sharon, Tony and his father the night before and for a few brief hours had managed to forget the case. They had indulged in a spectacular feast of Lester’s smoked meat, latkes smothered in un-Kosher but delicious sour cream, and a salad on the side, Sharon’s rueful nod to healthy eating. He had phoned Hannah, managed a civil conversation with Ashley, and listened to his daughter grumble good-naturedly about the Vancouver rain, traffic and crowds. The only worrisome note in the whole exchange was Hannah’s rave reaction to the University of British Columbia, whose spectacular seaside setting and hot guys had her excited to learn more.
It made him think of Norah and Reg Kennedy, whose loss eclipsed his own. Not only had their daughter disappeared, but quite possibly in her outrage she had written them out of her life. He was still thinking of that when he sat down at his desk in the morning to check his messages. Reg might have been confused and drunk last evening when Green had called, but Jessica was certain he knew full well who Tanya was. Was Reg’s impairment sufficient explanation for his lapse, or had he been lying?
Green was listening to his voice mail with only half an ear until the hesitant, squeaky voice of Dylan Whyte came on. “Um, it’s late, but I guess you’ll get this in the morning. I thought you should know Brandon never came back for the information last night. Never picked up his computer either.”
According to the time log, the call had been placed at 2:48 a.m., typical hours for a graduate student in that last desperate push to a deadline. Green felt a flicker of concern. Now, not only were the Kennedys possibly up to something, but so was Brandon. Did they both have a theory about where Meredith was? If so, why were they keeping it secret from the police?
We’re the ones in charge of the fucking investigation, he wanted to shout. But even as he cursed, he knew the reason. This case was not just about a missing person, it was about murder, and the lines between the two had become very blurred. Even for Meredith herself.
He spotted Gibbs rising from his desk and summoned him hastily. “Any luck locating that cottage?”
Gibbs nodded. “Yes, s-sir. No luck with the phone book, but I just got through to the land registry office. It’s on Loon Lake, off county road 315.” He flourished a printout and laid it on Green’s desk. “I just tried a Google map search to find out the exact location and how to get there, but I could only get the general vicinity.”
“Jessica said it’s at the end of a road.”
“But the addresses are not all in the system. I tried to get a satellite view so we can see what’s around it and maybe spot the cottage, but the satellite’s not detailed enough up there. All you can see is trees, lakes and streams.”
Green bent over the map to trace the roads. The main road showed as a narrow ribbon twisting and weaving through the forests and lakes in the general direction of north. Away from civilization. There were several dead-end spurs, but only one ended up at the edge of a good-sized lake. Loon Lake. On the one hand, anyone hiding there would have no escape. On the other hand, the lack of alternative access routes should make it easy to control the entry and exit points.
A sharp knock at his door startled him. He looked up to see Marie Claire Levesque leaning against the doorframe, her eyes travelling from Gibbs to the map. “Any new developments?” she asked.
He gestured her inside and filled her in on Dylan Whyte’s tip. “We have a pretty good lead on Meredith’s whereabouts,” he said, showing her the map. “But we have to move quickly because Brandon and her parents may be on to her as well.”
Levesque’s eyes lit with excitement. “Do we need a full tactical response, sir?”
Green shook his head. “It’s the Sûreté’s jurisdiction, so we need to get them on board—”
“Should I call them, sir? I have a cousin who works that district.”
Green smiled to himself. He had not relished the idea of negotiating interprovincial cooperation through official channels using his rusty French. Personal connection was always better, family best of all. “Yes, get on it. Arrange for a unit to meet us at...” He studied the map. Given the windy, narrow road, most of it likely gravel or ice, it would be at least an hour’s drive from here to the cottage, even if they pushed it. The SQ would have a considerable head start and could get there well ahead of them. Was it necessary? He tried to pinpoint his sense of unease. Both Brandon and the Kennedys were off pursuing their own agendas, perhaps even now converging on Meredith’s hiding place. Nothing he’d uncovered in the past week suggested that Brandon was a threat to her, except Norah’s suspicion. The Kennedys, for all their flaws, were her parents. Throughout the week-long search, all three of them had seemed desperate for one thing. To find her safe and sound.
But even as he puzzled over his unease, he knew the reason. This was not just about missing persons, it was about murder. And a big unknown hung over the whole case. Who had murdered Lise Gravelle and why?
His finger hovered over the map as he debated his options. In the end, his own need for control won out. This was far too delicate a situation to send an uninformed SQ patrol unit in blind. He found a small dot at the intersection of two country roads, halfway to the cottage.
“Mayo. We’ll go from there together.”
Levesque paused on her way out the door and glanced at Gibbs, who was watching Green like an eager puppy. She arched her brow. “We?”
“The three of us. Marie Claire, I’ll drive with you. Bob, you can take...” He peered out his door at the small collection of officers in the unit room. With this skeleton holiday staff, he really couldn’t afford another detective.
“Sue Peters, sir?”
Green shook his head. This time he really had to draw the line. Even though Peters had put her heart into this case and many of the breakthroughs had been hers, she wasn’t cleared for full duty. Regulations aside, she wasn’t nearly ready to handle a crisis or a physical response should something unexpected happen. They were going into an unknown, potentially dangerous situation with a killer on the loose. The risk to all of them was just too great.
“Not this time, Bob. Take Zdanno from General Assignment. And get radios, vests and the full range of use of force, just as a precaution.”
Even Gibbs knew better than to argue the point. Bobbing his head, he followed Levesque to the unit room to make the preparations.
Green grabbed his coat and boots and took his Glock from his drawer. As an afterthought, he stuffed some latex gloves and evidence bags into his pockets. He needed to cancel his meeting with the deputy chief and bring both him and Superintendent Devine into the picture, but all that could wait until they were en route. He felt the familiar rush of adrenaline that accompanied the unknown. The hint of danger, the thrill of the hunt. He locked his door and was heading across the room just as the elevator door slid open. A uniform constable from the front desk emerged, followed by a plump, middle-aged woman with a pile of sun-bleached hair and the leathery brown complexion of the Florida beach. The tip of her nose was bright red from the cold.
“This is Inspector Green,” said the constable.
The woman’s gaze met his, level and frank. “Hello,” she said in a rich, smoke-laden voice. “I am Lilianne Gravelle.”