Roxanne arrived in time to see Mo Magnusson and her boyfriend, Keenan, leaving the coffee shop. Their rusty Fiesta was parked at the roadside. Roxanne pulled up right in front of it.
“Hey, you looking for my dad too? You missed him.” Mo flashed a silver-studded grin as she opened the passenger door. “Can you move your car out of the way? I’ve got to get to get to Winnipeg in time for work.”
Roxanne looked past her. She could see Brian Donohue and Matt Stavros crossing the parking lot. So they’d lost track of Erik Axelsson? Both of them avoided looking at her as they walked briskly towards the RCMP building. She got back into her car and pulled it forward so Mo and Keenan could drive out. Mo gave her a cheery wave as she passed. Roxanne caught up to Brian and Matt upstairs in their office. Matt appeared sheepish but Brian was unapologetic.
“Hey, it happens,” he said. “He went out the back door, to go to the bank. We came in the other way.”
The bank was across the street. Roxanne noticed Izzy reach for her phone. Calling Roberta? How much money could Erik Axelsson access?
“Isbister had shown up and Erik took off right away,” Matt added, trying to placate her. “At least that’s what Mo says. Didn’t want to spend time with him.”
Roxanne was not going to be appeased. “So why did both of you have to go into the coffee shop?”
“Isbister and Axelsson were both there. My decision,” Brian said, dismissively authoritarian. He sounded annoyed. That was fine by her. She was thoroughly pissed off. And she had thought he was attractive?
“Except Axelsson wasn’t yours. He was mine. Why didn’t one of you keep an eye on the truck? Matt, I told you to watch out for him.”
“Bad timing,” Brian answered instead. “Axelsson must have got to his truck while we went into the shop for coffee. We were looking the other way.”
“So he’s gone. And now he’s out there with cash in his pocket.”
Izzy got up and reached for her parka. “He could have gone to Mike Little’s. I know where he lives. Hey, Matt. Let’s go find him. We’ll check the bars if he’s not there.”
They disappeared off down the stairs, leaving Roxanne and Brian alone. The phone rang. It was Roberta, calling back. Erik had emptied most of their joint account. He’d walked off with almost a couple of thousand bucks.
“Did you not think, Roberta? Couldn’t you have transferred some into your own account?”
“Don’t have one.”
“You shouldn’t be out there alone.”
“Lizzie took the afternoon off. She’ll be here soon. Not to worry, I know how to handle Erik.”
“Lock your doors, Roberta.”
“Okay, okay. I’ll be fine.” She hung up.
Brian was leaning against a wall, arms folded. “So he’s out there drowning his sorrows with a buddy. Nothing illegal about that.”
“He’s recovering from a head injury and he gets violent when he’s drunk.”
“So, tell Gilchrist. He can handle it. It’s not our problem, is it? We’ve got a murder to solve. Why are you wasting time on a small-town drunk that we know has an alibi? Did the wife have anything to do with it?”
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Well then. And there’s Angus Smith. Did they even know him? They don’t live near Cullen Village. Erik Axelsson has nothing to do with the murders. This line of investigation is dead. Give it up. I’m going to go and get some lunch before this planning committee meeting.”
That was her told. He was team commander, after all. That was an oxymoron. All command and no questions asked. So much for teamwork. He turned on his heel to leave. She spoke to his back.
“I want in on that interview,” she said. “Sir.” If he wanted protocol, he could have it. “If I’m the investigator on this case, I need to know what Isbister has to say.”
“No problem.” Suddenly the hostility evaporated. He relaxed, actually smiled, back to his good-looking self. “Come along to the meeting if you like. I’ll buy you lunch first.”
“That’s okay,” she said, refusing to be charmed. She needed to skip lunch anyway, after what she’d eaten at Roberta’s. “I’ll be here when you bring Isbister back for questioning.”
Once he was gone, she looked at the whiteboard on the wall. Brian was right that this was a dead end, but so many leads in this case were. The Andreychuks, George Smedley, they all led nowhere. Isbister was interesting. He might know something about Stella Magnusson’s money, but he’d been out of the country at the time of the murder. It was another watertight alibi. She sat and stared at the board, running different scenarios in her head. Something was missing, some vital bit of the puzzle. She couldn’t figure out what it might be.
Kathy Isfeld excused herself from her desk at 1:45 precisely. She returned an hour later. The meeting that was predicted to take all afternoon had lasted exactly twenty-two minutes. The lake support group had been out in full force, with placards and photographs that described how the new development would damage the lake’s ecosystem. They’d packed the seats in the chamber. She’d seen Sergeant Donohue there, sitting in the back row. She’d found a space just in front of him. She didn’t think he’d recognized her out of the office.
Leo Isbister had been introduced. Everyone waited to hear his pitch. He didn’t deliver. He agreed with the ecologists, he said. They should protect the wetlands. He wanted them to know that he was a progressive developer, one who listened to the community’s concerns, who took the needs of all stakeholders into account. And in this case, he had decided that Isbister Homes should withdraw its application for development and respect the natural habitat. He hoped they would be able to do business at some point in the future, but as of now he had no plans for development in the area. He thanked them for their attention.
“All the lake supporters cheered,” said Kathy in her tiny voice. “It was quite exciting. A lot of the guys who have businesses around town aren’t too pleased. You could tell by the looks on their faces.”
“Guess they’ll be over here real soon then,” said Sergeant Gilchrist. “Him and Sergeant Donohue.”
“Here?” Kathy had taken up her usual position at her computer. “They’re not coming here. They’ve gone to the hotel.”
“What?” Roxanne couldn’t believe it. She reached for her phone. There was nothing from Brian. A text from Izzy said that Erik Axelsson had been at Mike Little’s house earlier but Alice, Mike’s wife, had insisted he leave. She and Matt were checking the bars. No luck so far.
“Leo Isbister’s lawyer spoke to Sergeant Donohue after the meeting,” Kathy whispered. “I was standing right there. He asked him to meet them in the lounge at the hotel at three.”
It took Roxanne ten minutes to get out of the building, into her car and down to the hotel. She found Leo Isbister comfortably ensconced in an armchair beside a blazing log fire, a bowl of nuts on the table in front of him. He’d ordered whisky. The hotel’s selection of malts was limited. Glenlivet would have to do. Brian sat on one side of him and on the other was a man wearing an impeccable tan-coloured suit, a pale yellow shirt with a lilac tie. His soft leather briefcase sat on the table in front of him. Any surprise they had at seeing her was quickly suppressed, especially by Brian.
“Well, well, the gang’s all here,” said Leo. He introduced the third man as Ivan Gregory, his lawyer. Of course he was. Sleek and foxy. “Have anything you like, Corporal. Ivan’s sticking to a soda. He’s driving. And your buddy here’s having a Coke, since he’s on duty. I guess you are too.”
Leo sniffed the malt and sipped it, looking smug. A server hovered. Roxanne ordered a mineral water. Gregory searched his briefcase for some papers and looked at them over the top of gold-rimmed reading glasses.
“I act on behalf of Mr. Isbister and his company, but Ms. Stella Magnusson was also a client.” Gregory laid an envelope on the table. “She invested in a real estate company. Central Holdings. They own rental properties around the city. These papers will provide you with the details.”
Brian opened the envelope, glanced at the contents and passed them to Roxanne. A bottom-line figure of just over $1,685,000 jumped out at her.
“Central Holdings is a subsidiary of Isbister Homes?” Brian asked.
“No, Sergeant. Definitely not. It’s a separate enterprise. Mr. Isbister’s finances in no way connect to those of Ms. Magnusson.”
Roxanne’s drink appeared at her elbow. “So she was using this company to launder money?” Was that why the bosses in Winnipeg were so interested in Isbister? Was Brian involved in a related investigation?
“All our dealings with Ms. Magnusson were legitimate,” said the lawyer.
“See,” Leo drawled from the depths of his armchair, “Stella had money when she came back from the States, from when she was married to Freddie Santana. Divorce settlement and some other stuff. She used some to fix up the house. And she asked me where she could put the rest. I sent her to Ivan here.”
“Her investment paid off,” the lawyer added. “She did well from it. It’s built up over the years.”
“And she added to it?”
“She did. When she could.” Leo swirled the amber liquid around in his glass. “Stella had a head for business. Smart girl.”
“So why is there no will?” Roxanne asked.
“Ah, but there is.” Ivan Gregory produced another envelope, Houdini-like. He slid it across the table. “Your copy. She left the bulk of her estate to her daughter, Ariel Star Magnusson, a.k.a. Maureen Penner. There’s a small bequest to Mr. Isbister here, for all his help. That’s all. It’s very clear. I am her executor.”
Again, the document was passed from one to the other. It was dated over nine years earlier. The witnesses were a legal assistant and another lawyer from Ivan Gregory’s firm.
“Stella got a letter from Mo about ten years back,” Leo explained. “Didn’t want to get involved with her, but she did take an interest. She asked me to keep an eye open for the kid. So I did.” He looked pleased with himself.
That didn’t mesh with Mo’s story, Roxanne thought. Which of them was lying? “You know we’ve been looking for this?” she said.
Both men smiled at her, one showing his teeth, the other tight-lipped.
“We thought we’d wait until you found the murderer,” said Leo. “Didn’t want to get mixed up in that. Taking your time, aren’t you?”
“And we didn’t want suspicion falling on Maureen. She doesn’t need that,” Ivan Gregory said smoothly.
“Very thoughtful of you.” Brian pocketed the copy of the will. “You’ll know where Stella Magnusson did her personal banking, then?”
“I don’t,” said Leo. “But Ivan does.”
Stella had used a credit union. Ivan gave them the address. The original documents were in a safety deposit box. Had they found the key? They hadn’t.
“Well, you’ll just have to search a little harder, won’t you,” said Leo. Then he leaned forward, put down his empty glass and smiled like he was having fun. “Relax. Ivan has access. We’re here to help.”
Ivan Gregory closed his briefcase with a snap. “My card.” The lawyer passed them each one.
“The lady’s got mine already,” said Leo breezily, and they were gone.
“So that answers some questions,” said Brian. “Took their time telling us. I need to get straight back to Winnipeg.”
Roxanne’s phone had vibrated ten minutes earlier. Izzy had sent a text. EA bought vodka. Paid cash. Not good news. Roxanne called her. Erik had dropped into the liquor mart two hours earlier. He could be anywhere, drowning his sorrows.
Roxanne stepped into her car and watched Brian drive off in his. Her running gear was in the trunk. It was late afternoon, and the knitters and quilters at Sprucewood Hall would have gone home. People ate early in this part of the world. Supper was often at five. Soon she was there, running circuits. She had the track to herself. She’d get some laps in, clear her head, and try to figure out what was eluding her. Even with this new information, something was still missing.
Roxanne was driving back from Sprucewood when her phone rang. Roberta Axelsson sounded scared.
“He’s coming up the driveway. It’s got to be him. He’s driving fast.”
“Don’t let him in. We’re on our way.”
Roxanne put out an all-car alert as she drove, lights flashing, to the farm. She didn’t have far to go. She pulled into the driveway to see Axelsson’s truck skewed in the middle of the parking space in front of the house, the driver’s door hanging open. The door to the house was also open.
She pulled up alongside the truck. From the car door, she saw Erik Axelsson back out of the house. He turned his head and saw her.
“She’s got a gun! She’s crazy!”
He stepped backwards onto the step, holding his hands up. Then he backed down another step. A younger version of Roberta Axelsson appeared in the doorway. She was holding a shotgun.
Roxanne reached for her own weapon. She could hear a siren in the distance. And another.
“Put down the gun, ma’am!” she called. She stayed by the car.
“Tell him to back up,” the woman called to her. She was pointing the gun straight at Axelsson. “You, back up!” She took a step towards him. He took two more steps back and reached the ground.
“You need to drop that gun, right now!” Roxanne shouted. She’d moved closer, into the cover of Axelsson’s truck.
“That’s my house!” Axelsson was flailing his arms in the air, shifting drunkenly from one foot to the other. The cap on his head had fallen to one side. It didn’t quite cover the bandage on one side of his head. “It’s mine! She can’t lock me out!”
“Get back!” The woman in the doorway stayed where she was.
“Walk backwards, Erik! Walk back towards me!” Roxanne shouted. The sirens were coming closer. Erik turned to face Roxanne.
“She’s mad, just like her mother!” He lurched in Roxanne’s direction, away from the house. The woman on the step lowered the gun.
“Let’s talk about this, Erik.” Roxanne stepped out from the shelter of the truck. “Ma’am, put that gun down!” she called again. Roberta’s daughter, Lizzie, propped the gun against the doorjamb. Roxanne put away her weapon.
“He kicked the door in,” Lizzie called to Roxanne. “He hit my mom.”
Erik turned, ran for the door, jumped up the steps and grabbed for the shotgun. Roxanne raced towards him. When she tackled him, he had raised the butt of the gun above his head, ready to hit Lizzie.
He fell sideways off the step into the snow. Roxanne landed on top of him and twisted his arms behind his back. The cap had come off. His face appeared gaunt without the hair.
“Don’t move,” she said. The yard was illuminated by red flashing lights. Matt ran to her side. “Cuff him.”
Izzy had picked up the shotgun. She cracked it open. It wasn’t loaded. Matt and Sam Mendes got Axelsson to a police car. The door to the house was hanging off its hinges.
Roxanne walked into the kitchen. Roberta was sitting on the floor, leaning against a counter, a child in her arms. Her left eye was red and swelling. Her daughter was soothing a crying baby.
“I’ve never seen him like that, Corporal. He was like a madman. He was yelling that he was going to kill me.”
Roxanne turned to the daughter. “You heard him say that?” Lizzie nodded her head in agreement. Matt walked into the room.
“We’ve got him in the back of the car,” he said. “We’ll charge him with assault. Lock him up for the night. You’ll have to wait until he’s sober to interview him.”
“Get him for unlawful entry as well. Driving under the influence. Uttering threats. We need to get this woman to the hospital to get that eye checked.”