Sam
REECE DROPPED HER at their office, warning her again to stay out of Bryce’s investigation. Rather than snapping at him, she tried to see things from his point of view. He’d been a cop for twelve years. His years of service had conditioned him to follow the chain of command. But Sam didn’t feel obliged to obey anyone. Deference wasn’t in her nature and Bryce couldn’t hold her actions against Reece. She was an adult, free to make her own choices and capable of dealing with the consequences.
Eli stood when she entered the small office. He stretched out his back and smiled at her. “Reece is not with you?”
“He won’t be in today.”
They’d once again made plans for dinner, and she’d made reservations at an upscale Japanese restaurant with tatami rooms where they could dine in private. It would be a romantic evening that Sam hoped would reignite the intimacy they’d lost during their weeks of constant bickering.
With a couple of hours to spare before she needed to go home to primp, Sam picked up the phone to call Margaret.
“Did the police take Bart’s computer?” she asked without preamble.
“Uh… I have his laptop.”
“Didn’t the detectives want it?”
“Well, sort of,” Margaret said hesitantly.
“Why didn’t you give it to them?”
“I, uh, told them I didn’t know where it was.”
Sam could almost see her blushing with shame. “Why?”
“I didn’t want them to take it,” Margaret whispered.
“I figured that,” Sam said. “Why not?”
“A girl in my sorority told me Bart was selling pot on campus. When I confronted him, he admitted that Angel made him do it so they could save money for an apartment.”
“You thought there was something on the computer that would implicate Bart,” Sam guessed.
Lying to the police was bad, but she could find a way to get Bart’s computer to Bryce without ratting out Margaret. The good news was that she’d have a chance to look at any pictures he had on his hard drive.
“Can you bring it to me?” she asked.
“Are you going to tell the cops I fibbed?” Margaret asked with trepidation.
“No, but we have to surrender it.”
“I don’t want my brother to get in trouble. About the pot, I mean.”
Dealing a drug that Canada was a heartbeat away from legalizing was the least of Bart’s troubles.
“Just bring it to the office, okay?”
After Sam disconnected, she turned to Eli. “What did you find out about Aleksia?” She removed her leather jacket and hung it over the back of a visitor chair.
“She attended Central Etobicoke High School,” Eli said. “The 2011 and 2012 yearbooks listed her—without a picture—but the 2013 did not. She did not attend grade twelve.”
She didn’t care if Aleksia had dropped out of high school. She wanted to know what kind of student she’d been and if there was any mention of home conflict in her school records.
“Well?” Sam said impatiently. “What did her records state about her?”
He shrugged. “I do not know. Her transcripts are not on the Toronto District School Board’s database.”
Confused, she said, “They don’t purge records that fast.”
“Well, there is no Aleksia Berisha in the TDSB’s system,” Eli insisted.
Maybe the Board of Education had removed her file after police arrested Incubus. It might have been a way to prevent an unscrupulous employee from selling confidential details about Incubus’s stepdaughter to a tabloid.
“What about a passport?” she asked.
“Albanian issued. Date of birth April 10 1995. She arrived in Canada in 2011 and left in December 2013. She hasn’t travelled outside Albania since. I also found her birth certificate,” Eli said. “Aleksia Zambak Berisha. Father unknown.”
Incubus had killed his wife in April 2012, a few months before authorities found his first lily victim. If Aleksia had returned to Albania in December 2013, she had been in Toronto when Incubus murdered Joyce.
“What’s wrong?” Eli asked.
Sam tried in vain to piece together what was bothering her. “Authorities discovered Natasha’s body twenty months after her murder.”
“Right, when the cops found the cabin he used to kill his other victims. What about it?” Eli asked.
“He told neighbours that Natasha had returned to Albania to nurse a sick relative.” She grasped the incongruity. “Why wouldn’t his eighteen-year-old stepdaughter realize something was wrong when she couldn’t reach her mother?”
Eli shrugged. “Teenage girls do not always have great relationships with their moms,” he said. “He could have set up a fake email account for Natasha. Aleksia may not have been interested in speaking with her mom on the phone.”
He had a point. When she was in university, she hadn’t called her mother once.
“Okay, but why keep Aleksia in Canada after he killed her mother?” she said.
“Why not?”
“Because Incubus abducted and murdered his first victim three months after he killed Natasha,” Sam stated.
“So? He did not take the women to his house. He used the cabin,” Eli said. “Maybe it thrilled him to come home after he mutilated a victim. Besides, what was the alternative? If Aleksia disappeared right after her mother did, it would be suspicious.”
“I suppose,” she said. “Maybe Aleksia suspected something was wrong and fled Canada with the intent of meeting her mother in Albania.”
“Well, she never returned to Canada but she does own the house in Rexdale,” Eli said. “A law office pays the property taxes. I had no luck in finding an Albanian address for her.” Eli paused in thought. “She could have changed her name. You know, after police charged her stepfather with her mother’s murder.”
It made sense that Aleksia wanted nothing to do with her serial killer stepfather. The publicity surrounding Incubus’s arrest and trial had extended internationally. It would be awful for a girl who had just turned eighteen to deal with that stigma.
“Knock, knock,” said a voice from the hallway.
She turned to find Margaret standing outside the open door. Her chestnut hair was loose around her shoulders and her cheeks were flushed from the cold. She was hugging a laptop bag to her chest.
Eli’s mouth gaped and his eyes widened. Sam stifled a snicker. Margaret was a stunning young woman.
She took the laptop case and unzipped it. “Do you have any of Bart’s social media passwords?”
Margaret shook her head. She was staring at Eli with a puzzled expression. “I know you,” she said.
“No,” he mumbled.
“Sure. I’ve seen you around campus,” Margaret said.
Eli snapped the elastic on his wrist. “No, you have not.”
“Yes. You were with a girl. She had long black hair,” Margaret insisted. “She’s about my age. Twenty-two, maybe.”
Eli’s eyes danced around the room, never settling in one place. “I do not know anyone like that,” he murmured.
“Yes, you do,” Sam said. “I saw you talking with her outside the office the day we interviewed you.”
“I do not know anyone like that,” Eli repeated in a raised voice. His eyes darted up to the ceiling. He snapped the elastic with renewed force. “I have not been at the university. I do not know Margaret. Margaret is pretty. Her face is symmetrical. I have not seen her before.”
After Reece had told her that Eli had mild Asperger syndrome, Sam had done some reading and learned, among other things, that people with Asperger’s were often overwhelmed by angry or confrontational tones. Eli’s increasingly pedantic speech and agitated twitches warned her that a meltdown was imminent. She backed off and in a calm voice said, “Okay, we’ll leave that subject for now. Sorry, Eli.” Who cared if Eli was on campus? It was a stupid thing to lie about, but maybe he didn’t want to confess he was dating someone.
Margaret caught Sam’s eye, raised an eyebrow, and nodded at Sam’s unspoken warning. “Thank you,” she said to Eli.
“What for?” he mumbled.
“For saying I’m pretty.”
Crisis averted. Sam rolled her eyes at her intern’s grin and noted with quiet relief that his muscles relaxed and the twitching had stopped. She started Bart’s computer. “There’s a password.” Disappointing, but she’d expected it.
Eli sneaked a peek at Margaret. “My hacker friend can crack it. Easy breezy,” he boasted.
“Really?” Margaret’s eyes widened with admiration. “I wish I knew a hacker. He could have snooped into my cheating boyfriend. I’m single now,” she said coquettishly.
Oh boy, Sam thought. “Guys, I’m not running a match-making service here. Can we please focus?”
Eli stood up straight, all business again. “I will take the computer, crack the password, and make a copy of the hard drive.” He returned Margaret’s smile but quickly dropped his eyes. “My hacker is great. She can access any database.”
“Oh, it’s a she.” Margaret smirked. “Is she about twenty-two with dark hair?”
Eli’s eyes widened and he vigorously shook his head.
Margaret laughed. “I’m teasing. Relax.”
“How are your folks?” Sam asked her, deftly changing the subject.
Margaret sobered. “Bad. Can I tell them you’re trying to find Bart? That would make Mom hopeful.”
“Let’s keep it between us,” she said quickly. “Just for the time being.”
“It is confidential because Sam is keeping it secret from Reece,” Eli said. “Reece wants to leave your brother’s case to the police.”
His candour annoyed her. “Confidential means you don’t blab, Eli. And I’m not keeping anything secret.” She scowled at him. “We’ll bring Reece up to speed if we find a picture. Otherwise, it’s a waste of time.”
“Angel wouldn’t let anyone take her picture,” Margaret said. “She and Bart both closed their Bumble accounts months ago, so that won’t help. The photos he showed me on Bumble didn’t look like her anyway.”
“How so?” Sam asked.
Margaret shrugged. “They were glam shots. Her hair was different when I saw her and she wasn’t wearing makeup. In real life, Angel isn’t as sexy as the photos she posted on Bumble.” Margaret’s eyes grew sad and moist. “But she’s pretty and way out of Bart’s league. That’s why my brother puts her on a pedestal and does everything she wants.” Her tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “I don’t like Angel, but I can’t believe she’s the Frozen Statue Killer.”
“The police could be wrong,” Sam said.
Margaret swiped her cheeks. “I hope so.” She glanced at her phone. “Shoot, I have class. Want to get coffee sometime?” she asked Eli.
He blushed and avoided her eyes. “I would be delighted.” His hand twitched at his side.
Sam gazed out the window as Margaret exited the building. She glanced up and Sam stepped into the shadows. As soon as Margaret looked away, she lowered her head to her hands and her hunched shoulders shook as she cried.
“I’ll bring your brother home,” Sam whispered. “I always keep my promises.”
But that wasn’t true. She’d failed to keep her promise to her sister.