LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

was on the verge of turning my truck around to track Chief Decontie down at the Migiskan Police station when I caught sight of a large patch of what looked to be blood on the dirt drive. I jumped out to have a closer look and saw a trail of dark blotches leading towards the side of the house. I followed them, stepping carefully to avoid destroying possible police evidence.

      At the corner of the house, the trail of blood disappeared into a tangle of weeds and low brush. Although Louis had managed over the years to hack a clearing out of the dense bush at the front of the house, he’d never attempted to do so elsewhere. Sun-starved balsam and poplar crowded against the side wall of the shack, making it appear impassable. However, a faint gap in the vegetation seemed to lead towards the back of the house. I followed it.

      Once out of the wind, the sudden eerie stillness made me think twice about venturing into these woods. Surely the gunman had taken off after the shooting. I glanced nervously around. But in dense bush, where every tree was a potential hiding place, it was impossible to know if you were completely alone.

      Within a few feet, I found a pool of blood partially congealed in the hollow of a large rock. A trail of broken twigs and crushed weeds led further into the dark woods, away from the cabin. I hesitated. But curiosity overcame my remaining fears and I crept deeper into the gloom.

      From the zigzag line of Tommy’s track, it was obvious that he had been weak and confused. Several well-trampled spots suggested he might have stumbled and fallen. And where his track intersected an established path, he’d lain for a period of time. The dirt and surrounding rock were sticky with his blood, the earth scoured from his attempts to get up. I could almost feel Tommy’s desperation to keep from dying alone in these woods, miles from help. I was surprised the gunman hadn’t finished him off, but perhaps Tommy had remained still, possibly unconscious, for so long, the guy had assumed he was dead.

      I jumped at a sudden loud bang and jerked around to see the plank door of a small roughly built shed swing open. Another gust of wind sent it slamming back against the doorframe. From under the roofline of the outhouse, two holes, shaped like eyes, stared back at me smugly as if saying, “I know something you don’t.” On the ground, directly in front of the door, I found more of Tommy’s blood. Then I spied a perfectly round hole amongst the irregular knotholes of the door. Curious, I ran my fingers over it and felt metal. The shiny end of what was probably a bullet stared back at me. Tommy had been shot here.

      I scanned the nearby underbrush in an attempt to learn more and noticed a gleam of black. I reached down and pulled up a metal box. Its lid swung open, and out floated two brand new twenty dollar bills. And a few feet from the box I finally found the link to Marie’s killer. The exact replica of the elongated “y” footprint I’d seen on the beach where Marie had died. I knew Tommy hadn’t made it. Last night he’d been wearing Kodiacs.

      And embedded in the track was a crushed cigarette. So Marie’s killer smoked. But since a lot of people smoked, I doubted it would provide much of a clue.

      At that moment, I heard what I thought was a car door slam. I froze, then relaxed with the thought that the police had finally arrived. I debated returning to show them what I’d found, but figured they could follow the trail of blood as easily as I. Besides, LaFramboise would make me leave before I learned all I could about Marie’s killer.

      I continued my search and found a small packet of new twenties lying on the ground. Was this the money Tommy had mentioned last night?

      A faint glimmer caught my eye. Thinking it was more money, maybe some coins, I reached into the underbrush and laughed out loud when I pulled up a man’s gold link bracelet. A clue, I thought, a real clue to this killer.

      “Hi Megs, what are you doing?” a voice suddenly said from behind me.

      They say sudden shock can add years to your life. This one sure did.

      “Good God, Gareth,” I said, slowly turning around, my heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”

      I stared at the cigarette in his hand, not sure if I wanted to draw the obvious conclusion.

      “I heard a noise, I came to check.”

      “I mean this house, this property. Why are you here? How do you even know about it?” I started to back up, wondering when the police would finally arrive.

      “Maybe I should ask the same of you?”

      As I stepped back, my elbow knocked against a tree. A glimmer of gold slid from my hand and dropped to the ground. I reached down to pick the bracelet up and stopped.

      Staring back at me was the initial “G”, engraved on the band.

      THIRTY-EIGHT

      Good. You found my gold bracelet,” Gareth said, looking smug in Polo tweed.

      Amazed by his ready claim of ownership, I held up the heavy links with the damning letter. “You admit this is yours?”

      “Of course. Give it to me.”

      Gareth grabbed it. We tugged at the slippery links, then with one firm yank, I ripped it from his grasp and zipped it into my pocket.

      “No way you’re having this. It’s evidence,” I said and regretted the words the minute they were spoken.

      Deciding I’d better put some distance between Gareth and myself, I started walking towards the front of the house to where my truck was parked.

      “What do you mean, evidence?” he said, catching up to me.

      “You should know.” I quickened my pace. Was he bluffing, or did he really not know the meaning of this bracelet?

      “Hey, hold on a minute. Know what?” He grabbed my arm and whirled me around.

      I struggled to escape, but his hold was too strong. And suddenly I was plunged back three years to when he had held me just as tightly. It had ended when, in a fit of rage, partly as a result of my goading, he had thrown me against the kitchen counter and broken my arm.

      This time I took a deep breath and very calmly said, “Gareth, let go of me.”

      It worked. I felt his grip loosen.

      “Not until you tell me what’s going on,” he said.

      I scanned his face looking for signs and saw the bully I now knew was Gareth. But was it the face of a killer?

      “Tommy Whiteduck’s been shot,” I said and slipped from his grasp. I turned and continued heading towards my truck, not quite sure if I wouldn’t be feeling the same kind of slug that had ripped through Tommy.

      For a few seconds, the only sound was my beating heart and then, “Meg, stop!”

      By this time I was running, desperate to reach the safety of my truck. I could hear his footsteps gaining. I raced along the side of the house, around the corner and almost tripped over a piece of one of Louis’s discards. I caught myself and sped towards my truck. Gareth’s import was parked a good distance behind. He grabbed me within arm reach of the truck door.

      “Release my arm, Gareth.”

      He glared back at me, then let go. “You saying I had something to do with this shooting?”

      “The bracelet says you were here when Tommy was shot.” I placed my hand on the door handle.

      “Wasn’t me. Someone ripped it off me a couple of days ago.”

      “You expect me to believe that? Or the police?”

      I opened the truck’s door. But before I could spring inside, Gareth slammed it shut.

      “Hand it over. No way you’re going to incriminate me,” he said.

      “Never,” I retorted, straining to hear the sounds that would tell me the police were finally coming to investigate Tommy’s shooting. I stared into his angry eyes and dared him to hurt me.

      But he crossed his arms and leaned back

Скачать книгу