LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

some problems with insubordination sometimes, but I could always trust him to think on his feet.”

      Right, Green thought grimly as he hung up. Like this time, putz? As one of the NCO s under his command, Green had known Vaillancourt for several years, but the man’s police instincts had never filled him with confidence. Green suspected he would have to do some additional detective work of his own to get the real story on Jeff Weiss. Just one more small task to add to his pile. Next he phoned Frank Corelli of the Ottawa Sun for an update on his anonymous news source.

      “Not a word since that botched meet,” Frank said. “She’s either a crank, or she’s gone to ground. Maybe something about the set-up spooked her.”

      Green pondered Frank’s words as he pulled into the parking lot of the station. The latter theory made a lot of sense, but even if the woman had gone to ground, he needed to find her. Now more than ever. If she really had seen Patricia Ross’s killer, she might be the only person who could stop him.

      As he parked, signed in and waited for the elevator, his thoughts kept drifting back to Twiggy. She had been in the vicinity at the time of the murder, she was clever enough to know how to use her knowledge to her own advantage, and she was just jaded and fearless enough to do so. Yet Twiggy, despite her relentless path to self-destruction, had an instinct for survival. Never again would she let some bastard try to dictate the terms of her exit from this world. If Twiggy had caught even a whiff of trouble, she’d be gone.

      Or so he hoped. But she was also old, fat and sick. Not to mention she was up against a calculating, determined killer who didn’t hesitate to target a cop. Indeed, if Twiggy did know something, Green needed to find her for her own safety as much as for her knowledge of the case. Yet Twiggy would never cooperate with any of the police officers he could assign to look for her. She hated cops, courts, judges, social workers and just about any official representative of the society that had failed her. If anyone was going to find Twiggy and get her to talk, it had to be him.

      The unhappy realization came to him on the elevator trip upstairs. He really couldn’t afford to take off up to Petawawa and leave all these crises simmering here. The last time he’d done that, one of his officers had nearly died.

      By the time he got off the elevator, he’d decided to send Gibbs along with Sullivan instead. The young detective deserved as much. The squad room was nearly deserted, but Gibbs was hard at work reviewing reports on the canvass of downtown Ottawa bars. No doubt sifting each word for a nugget of information that might trip up their killer. Green told him to round up Sullivan and meet him in his office.

      Inside his office, he looked at the pile of papers on his desk and the furious blinking of his phone. No matter how many times he checked his message box, there were always new ones. With a sigh, he flicked the machine on speaker phone so he could listen as he sifted through his paperwork. Several calls were from the media and fellow officers, asking for news or volunteering information.

      Then the voice of Kate McGrath broke through, breathy and excited. Check your fax! He pawed through the papers on his desk. What huge break? Had she already ID ’d one of the military photos?

      Papers scattered to the floor, but no fax. He dashed outside to the fax machine and snatched up the wad of waiting papers. Cursing the office inefficiency, he scanned them until he came to the one from Kate. Not an ID of a photo, but a page from a newspaper, with several lines highlighted. He skimmed these, then the whole article, and fell back down in his chair with a thud.

      Good God, what was this? Another twist? Another tentacle? How did all this fit in with old peacekeeping secrets and a ten-year old murder? Or was it a red herring, its significance only peripheral to the investigation. He was still puzzling over it when Gibbs and Sullivan walked into the squad room. Silently Green handed Sullivan the fax.

      The big detective’s eyebrows shot up as he read it. “Well, well, well. Politics gets into the act.”

      “It could have nothing to do with politics. This may be how Patricia Ross discovered the whereabouts of Roger Atkinson, who was a witness to her fiancé’s murder.”

      “You going to warn Devine, just in case? This could get even hotter than the military connection.”

      Green shook his head. If they were ever going to learn anything from Blakeley and Atkinson, stealth was of the essence. Barbara Devine didn’t do stealth. “Not until you’ve had a go at them up in Petawawa, see if you can make a connection.”

      Sullivan looked startled and opened his mouth as if to speak, but stopped himself. He glanced at Gibbs instead. “Can you dig up all the background you can get on Blakeley and Atkinson? I need some information before I go head to head with them.”

      Gibbs nodded, and as Sullivan continued to look at him, he jumped to his feet. “Now, sir?”

      Sullivan checked his watch. “Now. I’ll be rolling into Petawawa about two p.m., so that gives you less than three hours.”

      Once Gibbs had loped back outside, Sullivan nudged the door gently shut with his toe. “You’re not coming with me to Petawawa?”

      Reluctantly Green shook his head. “I want nothing better, believe me. But I can’t justify it. We don’t need two experienced field officers on this, and there’s just too much happening down here for me to take off. I should never have gone to Halifax. And now, with an officer down and all the staff up in arms, they need me to be here.”

      Sullivan eyed him shrewdly, as if he knew what the decision had cost him. “Good call.”

      “I figured you could take Gibbs.”

      “I need him on background and file coordination. No one works those computers better than Bob.”

      “Well, there are several officers volunteering for extra duty—”

      Sullivan slapped the desk with his broad palm, making the scattered papers jump. “I know just who to take.”

      “Who?”

      “Jeff Weiss.”

      Green stared at him. Besides the fact that Weiss was a physical and emotional basket case, the man’s actions were suspicious. When he said as much, Sullivan shrugged.

      “All the more reason to take him. To keep an eye on him and see what he does. Plus the guy’s been up there already with Sue, and he knows what they’ve already covered.”

      “So take his notes—”

      “His notes aren’t worth shit—he hardly wrote a thing apparently—but it should be all in his head. I think he’s the perfect partner to take along.”

      Green mulled over the idea uneasily. Sullivan’s proposal made sense, and if he hadn’t already had one officer downed by this killer, he probably wouldn’t be hesitating.

      “Okay, get him up here,” he said finally. “But Brian... Watch your back.”

      Sullivan reached across Green’s desk for the phone and called down to the duty sergeant in General Assignment. The conversation was short and terse. Sullivan jotted down a number before hanging up.

      “He’s not in today. Called in sick.”

      “Which he probably is,” Green replied with relief. “He was up half the night, in pretty rough shape.”

      “Still...I could phone him at home.”

      “Where he’s probably sleeping one off. Face it, Brian, he’ll be no good to you.” He nodded towards his door. “Take one of the guys outside.”

      With a sigh, Sullivan hauled himself to his feet. “Okay, I’ll take Luc Leblanc. But I’d like to meet this Weiss guy some time. Get my own read on him.”

      “Get in line, my friend.”

      SIXTEEN

      John Blakeley’s popularity was visible long before Sullivan and Leblanc hit the outskirts of Petawawa. Large red billboards

Скачать книгу