Until Benning made his next move, there didn't seem to be a goddam thing we could do.
* * *
I swallowed my pride and put in another call to my brother-in-law to be. Not that he answered or that anyone in her right mind would expect him to during this emergency. But I can't stand sitting around.
I stalked through the house. Up to the second floor and then down. Opened every door. Tried each window. Stepped out on both balconies. Stretched my neck into the attic crawl space. Crawled under the beds. Snooped around the walk-in clothes cupboards. Reached behind the coats and the out-of-season wardrobe. Stuck my nose past the shower curtain. Poked around in the front entrance closet, behind Lindsay's fur coat and ski gear. Peered in behind suitcases and packing boxes in the basement. Checked inside the movers' boxes still stacked three high. Inspected the gas furnace. Merv had done pretty much the same thing a couple of hours earlier.
The two musketeers were still huddled around Lindsay when I arrived back in the living room. Mrs. Parnell hulked in her chair looking vigilant and more than a little dangerous.
I cleaned up the spilled sherry. Then I slipped on my Sorels and the beaver coat, pulled on the hat and stuck my nose out the door. The cruiser was still parked in front of the building.
“Keep an eye on me,” I said to Mrs. Parnell.
Once she'd lurched across the room, I stepped through the door. I stood on the front steps and scanned the street. Intermittent traffic inched along the smooth curve of Colonel By Drive. Across the road, a lone jogger, face covered by a balaclava, puffed along the canal footpath. From the vantage point of the steps, I could see small packs of resolute skaters glide along the ice of the canal, scarves fluttering. No need to worry this year about melting ice or rain. Just the clink of falling fingers and noses. You don't have to be crazy to live in Ottawa in the winter, but it helps.
We had a new police shift parked in front of the house. The driver looked vaguely familiar. The two officers watched the jogger head around the bend and under the Queensway. They probably figured a jogger, wearing black, could get real close to Lindsay's place in the dark. And all joggers look alike. When the runner puffed out of sight, one of the cops turned to watch the skaters and the other scanned the condo front and sides. He spotted me, looking nothing short of dangerous in my get-up. He climbed out of the cruiser and placed his hand near his holster. Oh good, my tax dollars hard at work yet again.
Still, was it enough?
“Heard the news?” I asked. The other officer was female, although it was hard to tell with her police-issue winter hat. At least she didn't have the fur flap down, Fargo-style. She was sipping Tim Hortons coffee, the cup held in her leather-gloved hands. The two of them exchanged glances.
“What's he got to lose?” I said.
“Do I know you?” The driver squinted at me.
“Camilla MacPhee. Justice for Victims, Constable James. And you know damn well who I am and why I'm here.”
I'd seen him in court often enough, and he had an easy name to remember.
“Oh right. I heard you were here.”
I just smiled. Even if the Ottawa force hadn't sent Mr. Congeniality, I was glad they'd sent two officers, and they were awake and suspicious. Suspicious was just what we needed.
I was suspicious too. Not to mention worried about just how secure Lindsay's building really was. If Ralph Benning had nothing to lose before, now he had less than nothing. Getting shot by the cops was the best he could hope for. If the laws of physics permitted it, Benning would do it.
So did the laws of physics permit Benning to get into Lindsay's house? Only one way to find out. “You want to let the guy in the back know I'm coming around to check things out?” No point in getting shot myself.
Lindsay's place was an end unit. Pricey, an extra wall of windows with a panoramic view down the frozen canal. Glamorous. Security was well thought out. Floodlights eliminated most shadows. I pussyfooted along the side of the unit, feeling the eyes of the two officers on me. Motion detectors picked up my movements, and more lights flicked on. A shadowy Mrs. Parnell dogged my footsteps from window to window. I nodded. She waved her Benson and Hedges.
The back was an open courtyard with visitor parking. I peered under the small deck at Lindsay's utility entrance, but it was a pro forma exercise. I couldn't imagine Benning holed up on the petrified ground letting himself freeze to death. Although one could always hope.
In the back of the condo, I crunched in the snow, which was near the top of my Sorels. In the dark kitchen window, the tip of Mrs. Parnell's cigarette glowed.
If it hadn't been for the fog of breath on the window, I might not even have spotted the officer in the unmarked car, out of view. He'd spotted me though. I ambled over to the driver's side. He opened the window. I was glad the police were covering the house so well, even if he didn't look pleased to see me.
“Did you hear Benning killed his wife?” I said.
He nodded.
“We don't want another tragedy. You tracking the cars coming in and out? You have to inform us if you see anything suspicious. Here's a cell number.” I gave him Merv's.
“I think you're suspicious.” He wrinkled his nose. Might have been from residual mothballs on the beaver coat.
“Funny.” I turned and headed back. I stopped at the cruiser out front first.
“Can I do something else for you?” Officer James asked.
“Sure, you can make sure we all stay off the major media by keeping my client alive.” You can always tell when people bite their tongues. “Let's not forget Benning slipped past a bunch of your boys at his wife's place.”
The faces hardened.
“He has the same grudge against Lindsay Grace,” I said. “Make sure you keep her alive.”
“We have round-the-clock surveillance. We know what he's capable of. He shot an officer, remember? We want him just as badly as you do.”
“What about the roof? How do you know he won't come across the roof, rappel down the side or back of the house and cut his way into one of the windows? Or cut a hole through the roof itself?”
Their eyes met again. I thought the second officer mouthed the word “crackpot.”
“Trust me,” I said, “Nothing's too farfetched in this case.”
“We're on the job here. You head back inside and let us do it.”
“Make sure you're up to it. One woman dead in a day is more than enough. You people didn't keep him away from her.” I figured making them mad would keep their adrenaline up nicely, make them more alert.
The driver blurted, “She gave them the slip.” His colleague's coffee slopped as she reached over to touch his arm. A gentle way of saying, shut up you fool.
If I'd had coffee, I would have slopped it too. “She gave them the slip? No way she would have wanted to elude her police protection. I don't believe it.”
The woman officer spoke as she mopped up her coffee. “Believe what you want. If you want news updates, turn on your radio. That's not our job.” She reached over and the window slid up.
I stomped back to the condo, trying to imagine why Rina Benning would flee from safety straight into the arms of death.
* * *
Mrs. Parnell was the only person in the motley crew guarding Lindsay who made any sense. I had to admire her. But even so, by eight-thirty that evening I was tired of her company. There's a limited amount of time you want to spend in someone else's kitchen while your neighbour