LITMIR.BIZ

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eh?”

      This time Green didn’t bother with the dutiful smile. “Even so, I’d like to have a look. I’ve come all this way, might as well be thorough.”

      A scowl flitted across Norrich’s florid features. “Suit yourself. I can’t see why you think Patti Ross’s death is connected to this case anyway. This was ten years ago, just one of those pig-headed bar fights that gets out of hand when a little pussy starts ramping them up. I don’t know what things are like in Ottawa, but down here, sometimes guys just have to blow off steam. They’re cooped up all winter, jobs are scarce, and they’ve got too much time on their hands. And truth be told, Patti’s life hasn’t been all smooth sailing since then either, and she’s been known not to choose her company too carefully.”

      Beside him, McGrath bristled. Green lifted an eyebrow. “You’ve been keeping track of her?”

      The subtlety was lost on the man. He beamed triumphantly. “I made some inquiries when I heard you were coming down. She was on welfare for a long time till she got this part-time dry cleaners job. She’s been living in a shitty little one-room hole, drinking away most of what she makes.” He stopped, obviously thinking he’d made his point—that a drunken welfare tramp more than asks for whatever tawdry fate befalls her.

      Green moved briskly to the table to hide his anger. “Well, that’s very helpful, Leo. Saves me some legwork. Now I won’t keep you any longer. The sooner I get to that stack of files, the sooner I can take you up on that dinner.”

      “Kate will take good care of you. And any questions, you know where to find me.” He pumped Green’s hand again and trundled out of the room, leaving a palpable tension in his wake. Green heard McGrath exhale softly and wondered if there was a silent curse in her sigh. But she was all business as she strode over to the table.

      “He could be right, I suppose,” she said.

      Green didn’t reply. It was not really good form to tell a sergeant that her senior officer was an idiot, who would never spot a suspicious coincidence through the film of booze and prejudice with which he viewed the world. Patricia had scraped together a meagre existence for ten years since her fiancé’s death, without even escaping the town in which the trauma had occurred. Then suddenly she buys a ticket to Ottawa fifteen hundred kilometres away, and less than two weeks later, she’s dead. It could be simple bad luck, but the odds were long.

      “She witnessed her fiancé’s death, right?” he said. “She saw the man who punched him?”

      “Yes, but she didn’t know him. She would have given anything to see him caught, believe me.”

      “Then maybe something happened recently, to give her a lead on him. Someone told her something, or she discovered something.” He had been sifting idly through the files, and now he glanced up, excited. “And that trail brought her to Ottawa. Either to meet the man or to find out more about him. Whatever she stirred up, someone wanted her silenced.”

      McGrath looked thoughtful. “If she was naïve enough to confront the murderer, it’s a good bet he’d kill her to protect himself. He must have thought he was home free after ten years.”

      Green nodded. He could feel the adrenaline of the hunt begin to race. It was only a theory, but it fit a lot of the facts. She had met the killer for a drink and had confronted him, maybe to ask for money or simply for her own satisfaction.

      Desperate to silence her, he’d suggested an evening stroll and led her to an isolated spot, where he’d strangled her. Green pondered the scenario. It explained the brute force and apparent ruthlessness of the murder. This killer was not only a very strong man, but he was frantic to protect his secret. Perhaps he’d decided the body was too easy to find, so he’d later dragged her as far as he could to the secluded aqueduct. It wasn’t a perfect explanation, but it was the best Green could do with the facts he had.

      “We’re looking for a powerful, physical man,” he said. “Someone Daniel Oliver knew from the past and who’d betrayed him in some way. Was Daniel involved in criminal activity? Drug dealing?”

      McGrath shook her head. “He was a mechanic, although he’d been on the skids for a few months, lost his job and was on unemployment insurance. He was doing some fairly heavy drinking, but no drugs. The friends we interviewed said he was basically a decent guy.”

      “But his life had been on the skids, despite having a woman he planned to marry.”

      “Yes, that was slowly bringing him out of it. Plus the baby on the way.”

      Green thought about the findings of the autopsy. “What happened to the baby?”

      McGrath made a sympathetic face. “It was a little boy, born early because of all the stress. He had some health problems, I think, and she had trouble coping. When I last had contact with her, the Children’s Aid was taking measures to remove him from the home. I think that last loss just about destroyed her. That’s why when Inspector Norrich talks about Patti’s lifestyle...” She broke off, pressing her lips together as if to censor herself.

      “Yeah.” Green let the contempt hang in the air, then resumed a safer line of inquiry. “So what happened to send Oliver’s life into a tailspin?”

      McGrath seemed to pull herself from the memories with an effort. “According to Patti, his best friend was shot in a freak hunting accident about six months earlier, and Daniel blamed himself because he hadn’t kept in close enough touch. They’d been in the reserves together and served six months of peacekeeping duty overseas. They’d always been very close, but when they got back to Nova Scotia, the friend turned his back on his plans and retreated into himself.”

      Green’s instincts went on full alert. He’d known police officers who’d done UN duty in Yugoslavia, and he knew the stresses and dangers they had faced. He knew that stress could bond a group of men more strongly that ten years together on a normal job. It could also create some bitter enemies.

      “Did you interview any of their army mates? Especially those who were overseas with them?”

      “Norrich did.”

      Green’s eyes widened. “Norrich? He was on the case?”

      “He was lead.” She hesitated. “Technically. He was sergeant at the time, and I was a constable. I worked most of the case, but Norrich took the trip down the valley to talk to Daniel Oliver’s regiment. He figured...” She hesitated again, and Green could almost see her wrestling with propriety. “Being a sergeant...”

      “And a man.”

      She inclined her head slightly in agreement. “He’d get further.”

      “And did he?”

      “No. I guess military buddies close ranks even tighter than drinking buddies. All they said was that Daniel had been an excellent soldier in Yugoslavia, even got a promotion in the field, and everyone was very proud of him. But...” She reached for a file that lay on top of the stack. At a glance, Green could see Norrich’s name at the bottom of the report. “There was something I thought didn’t quite add up. Oliver had been on track for making sergeant, and moving up the ladder as an NCO . But two years after he got back from overseas, he quit the reserves. So things can’t have been as rosy as they painted it.”

      “Not to mention the strange behaviour of his friend when he returned from overseas.” Green stopped abruptly as a thought struck him. McGrath had said the friend’s accident was six months earlier. Daniel Oliver had been killed in April 1996. Counting back six months yielded the fall of 1995. He sucked in his breath as another coincidence hit him between the eyes. “What was the friend’s name?”

      She rummaged through the files, scanning rapidly. “I know I’ve got it in one of my interviews with Patti. I’m sure I wrote it— Ah-hah! Ian MacDonald. Corporal Ian MacDonald.”

      EIGHT

      May 28, 1993. Sector West, Croatia.

      Dear Kit...

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