“We’ll be there in twenty minutes,” replied Jack. “But to make it clear,” he said, giving a wink to Laura, “it is you, the renowned Corporal Connie Crane who is asking Laura and I to assist. You are not going to accuse us of butting in? You’re really asking … well, I’d say … begging for our help?”
“Just bring the goddamned pictures,” replied Connie gruffly. Her brusque tone was not genuine and she smiled when she hung up. At least this is one case that’s not personal for him …
When Connie realized she had started to fondle the crucifix around her neck again, it gave her cause to remind herself to retain her own objectivity and professionalism. Her thoughts returned to the case. What degenerate monster would murder a defenceless old man? A retired priest yet … whoever you are, rest assured, I will track you down, you son of a bitch!
“You okay?” asked Bert.
“Oh, yeah,” replied Connie, with determination. “I’m on top of my game with this one,” she added, while opening the car door.
“You going inside for a look?”
Connie paused to read an incoming text on her BlackBerry from the Forensic Identification Section. She looked at Bert and said, “That was FIS. They’ll be here in thirty minutes. I’m going to take a look at what we’ve got. Send them my way when they arrive.”
Connie stopped near the top of the stairs leading to the basement and stared at the dark stain in the lawn and the blood splatters on the back of the house. A large pinkish puddle had collected on the cement pad in front of the basement door. Odd … the murder took place outside … should be a bloody trail leading down the steps to where the body was dragged to get it out of sight … The smell of bleach reached her nose to answer her question. Bastards! They poured bleach on the steps on their way out to obliterate any footprints that would normally have been left in the blood. Whoever did this is calculating … not the type to panic. Professional …
Connie’s thoughts were about collecting physical evidence and figuring out what happened. She was wrong in her belief that the basement had been rented to a couple of men who were janitors. The idea of tripping a booby trap with a bomb never crossed her mind as she pushed open the basement door and stepped inside.
Chapter Three
Chapter Three
Jack and Laura arrived at Gabriel’s house as Gabriel stood on the sidewalk, apologizing to a mother who was strapping her child into a car seat.
Jack and Laura spoke to a uniformed Mountie who told them that Connie was around back and had gone into the basement suite. Jack watched Gabriel say goodbye and stood waiting to meet her. By the frightened look on the mother’s face, Jack had little doubt that she would never bring her child back again.
Gabriel did not look frightened. Her eyes were puffy with streaks of mascara on her cheeks and blotchy red patches on her face and neck. She was too grief-stricken to be afraid. When she started to return to the house, Jack and Laura introduced themselves.
“We would like you to look at some pictures for us,” said Laura, gesturing to the laptop she was holding. “We are sorry to have to ask you to do this now, but time could be of the essence.”
Gabriel turned as a young girl wearing pajamas came out the front door and stood at the top of the steps. “Faith! Go back in the house,” yelled Gabriel.
“I want to see,” wined Faith.
“No —” Gabriel stopped as Noah came out and put his arm around Faith’s shoulders to guide her back into the house.
Faith protested, but gave in to her big brother and both children disappeared inside.
“I’m sorry,” said Gabriel, turning back to Jack. “Could we do this at my kitchen table?”
“That would work better,” said Jack. “Give us a couple of minutes to talk with one of the investigators and we’ll be right in.”
“I can’t believe this happened,” said Gabriel tearfully as they walked toward the house. “They seemed like such nice men.”
“They told you they were janitors?” questioned Jack.
“Well, sort of,” she replied, while heading up the steps. “They were more to do with supplying the right chemicals to other janitorial services who did the actual cleaning.”
“I’ll talk to you later. I need to talk to the lead investigator immediately,” replied Jack abruptly as he turned and headed toward the rear of the house. Laura excused herself to Gabriel and hurried to keep up with him.
“Don’t like the sound of that,” muttered Jack.
“The chemical bit?” asked Laura. “You’re thinking — not in a daycare! They wouldn’t!”
Jack pointed to a row of rhododendron bushes planted alongside the house. They looked healthy, except for two plants in the center with leaves that were blackened and curled as if burned. “Look at that,” said Jack. “They would and they did.”
“I don’t believe it,” said Laura. “Maybe —”
“Connie!” screamed Jack, breaking into a run. “Anybody in the basement, don’t move!” He rounded the corner to the backyard within seconds.
“Hi, Jack,” said Connie, peering out from the basement door. “What the hell are you yelling about?”
“You don’t smell anything in there?” asked Jack, looking down at her from the top of the basement stairs.
“Careful you don’t step on anything,” cautioned Connie. She looked puzzled and said, “Smell anything? Well, yeah. The whole place stinks of bleach or something. The assholes used it to obliterate their tracks. Noticed it when I first came in, but most of the smell is gone now.”
“Like hell the smell is gone,” replied Jack. “The fumes erase your sense of smell. Not to mention, killing plants.”
“I don’t understand. Why were you yelling at me not to move?”
“Connie, you’re standing in a bloody meth lab,” replied Jack. “I’m sure of it. If not meth, then something else as bad. A lot of these places are booby-trapped.”
“Booby-traps? … Christ, I don’t think so. I’ve already been through it. The place has been cleaned out. But it is bloody, I’ll say that much. You can come in and see … but be careful.”
“If I’m careful,” replied Jack. He turned to Laura and said, “Wait out here.”
“You don’t have to convince me,” she replied.
The smell of chemicals assaulted Jack’s nostrils as soon as he entered. Within seconds he couldn’t smell anything as his sensory organs became temporarily incapacitated. He looked at the diluted trail of blood leading to the prone figure on the floor. The victim’s face had been literally pulverized. His silk bathrobe was halfway up his chest from being dragged inside by the ankles. A gold crucifix on a chain from his neck was resting on the floor above his head, with the chain held in place by his chin and ears.
“Wearing a bathrobe?” questioned Jack.
“They had trouble with winos sleeping under the trees in their backyard at night. Maybe he heard something and went out thinking he was rousting a wino and caught these guys instead.”
“I’d say they caught him,” replied Jack. “Nothing left of his face. Whoever did him must have a hell of a temper.”
“The perp had to be doused in blood,” commented Connie. “I’m not the blood-splatter expert, but if you noticed the splashes up the back of the house, I bet he was whacked at least half a dozen times.”