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  “Rebecca.” Sykes broke into her musing. “I warned you to keep a guard with you. Now I’m making that an order. Constable MacLean will be at your side at all times. And no heroics, please, although if you do have any new ideas on Jackie’s whereabouts, I want to know at once.”

  Rebecca nearly saluted. She grinned. “Yes, sir. No rash behaviour.”

  He gave her a sharp look. Sometimes she was sure her boss could read her mind.

  “Good,” he stated crisply. “Now, tell me what you found out at Maggie’s. Hound was there too, I understand.”

  “How did you know that?” Was he reading her mind again?

  “I had the house under surveillance.” He grunted, obviously amused. “You didn’t believe I’d let you stay there without protection, did you?”

  Of course. Yet again, he was thinking ahead. She had a long way to go to reach his level of foresight. She wondered if his mind was ever fully in the present.

  “I should’ve guessed,” she said. “Anyway, neither Maggie nor Hound had any stunning revelations about where Jackie might be hiding. They’re convinced that she’s holed up somewhere close to Conroy. Hound offered to help us today but I said no. He did say one thing, though. Apparently Jackie’s mother, Lily, comes from one of the indigenous communities along Georgian Bay, and they might have some ideas about where Jackie could be hiding.” Sykes nodded. “Hound also offered to ask some of the indigenous trackers to help.” She waited for Sykes’s reaction to this.

  “A good idea,” he replied. “I thought of it myself. I can’t put them in danger, but we should talk to them all the same.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Sykes began issuing orders to the search team.

  * * *

  By late Friday afternoon, the police hadn’t found the slightest trace of Jackie Caldwell. Sykes drove off to question Maggie, saying he hoped to garner some fresh ideas. He came back a while later, looking dejected. Hound had offered again to help with the search, which Sykes briefly considered and refused.

  Before they returned to Orillia, the detective team met with O’Reilly at Duffy’s to evaluate their efforts. At the end of the meeting, Sykes threw his hands in the air. “Now what? We’ve checked every scrub bush, tree stand, highway, road, lane, house and building for thirty miles around Conroy, and come up cold. No one’s seen Jackie or the pickup truck that she stole from the farm, and there’s been no break-ins reported, so she must have enough food to last for days, perhaps a week or more. We’ll just have to wait her out. She must emerge, eventually, and when she does, we’ll be ready — assuming she’s in the area. Meanwhile, we’ll widen the search.”

  Rebecca wondered when Sykes would give in and ask Hound to help, or if he would approach the indigenous trackers. “We’ve left photos of Jackie everywhere, sir. People will tell us if she shows her face. We’ll get her.” She tried to sound upbeat, although she knew she sounded doubtful — which Sykes wouldn’t fail to notice. “I don’t see what more we can do.”

  O’Reilly, Hadi and Chad agreed, but Sykes demurred. “Yes, but I do. In addition to deploying patrols on the main roads, I’ll set up lookout posts with armed units on standby. A helicopter will fly the entire area once a day, searching for the truck. If anyone sights her, we’ll grab her before she can disappear back into the bush. She must be in there somewhere.” He got to his feet. “That’s it, then. We’ll return to Orillia for the night.” He headed for the door. Chad and Hadi glanced at each other and followed him out.

  Rebecca remained behind to talk to O’Reilly. “Watch out for yourself, please. Jackie may show up when you’re on your own.” She smiled apologetically. “I know I don’t have to tell you that. I just needed to say it out loud to set myself at ease.”

  O’Reilly smiled. “It’s nice to know someone cares. And I’ll warn Hound to keep his eyes peeled. Jackie may chance coming to Conroy, if only to settle her score with him.”

  “I know.” Rebecca sighed. “I’m worried about that. Keep a close watch, won’t you? Make sure he doesn’t do anything foolish.”

  “You can count on it.” O’Reilly squeezed her arm.

  “Well, Senior Constable O’Reilly, I guess it’s goodbye for now, though not for long.” She rose slowly and left Duffy’s.

  As she was climbing into the back seat of Sykes’s car, Chad twisted around and gave her an encouraging nod. He was finally thawing. Now she felt even more guilty about getting him into trouble with Sykes, who’d taken the next-door neighbour case away from them, and given it to another detective in the CIB. It was all her fault.

  Her thoughts returned to her mother, who was never far from her mind. She wondered what Sykes would tell her about the murder. She also wanted to know more about his connection with her father, because clearly he had one, as did Maggie Delaney and Archie MacDougall. Since the conclusion of the McBride investigation, she’d known that they were all linked in some way. She just wished she knew how.

  Chapter Nine

  Sunday, September 30, 2007

  After spending several days at home watching the TV coverage of the search for Jackie, Hound figured the police might never catch her. When they retreated to Orillia on Friday night, he decided to get out of Conroy for a break. By Sunday morning he was in the central Ontario forest, wending his way through sugar maple, white ash, red oak and eastern hemlock, en route to his hidden cave. It was no longer a secret, for the McBride investigation had reached its violent conclusion in the clearing just outside, but he still went there to meditate and relax, although he hadn’t been back for almost a month.

  Right now, he was enjoying the early morning woodland — the mossy green carpet on the forest floor, the resinous scent of pine, the chirping of birds, and the sounds of small animals rustling through freshly fallen leaves. He hiked along, lost in thoughts of Jackie Caldwell. She’d been on the loose for five days now and despite the police’s frantic search, there was still no sign of her.

  While Jackie was locked up, a semblance of normalcy had returned to Hound’s life. But he found that the past was no longer enough. After almost getting killed saving Rebecca’s life, he felt that he needed to change his situation. He’d even contemplated going back to England to confront his father, although he could never think of Richard Hounsley in that way. Having been rejected by that formidable man at ten years of age, and unceremoniously shipped off to Canada, Hound felt that he had no father, no close family. What would be the point of going to England? But why did he have access to as much money as he wanted? All he had to do was ask the bank manager and it was handed to him, no questions asked. The banker wouldn’t tell him why, except that his father had authorized it. And why would he do that if he detested him so much? Hound was determined to discover the reason someday. But he couldn’t broach the subject over the telephone or in a letter. Sooner or later, he would have to go to England, but he couldn’t possibly leave while Rebecca was in danger. His ‘normal’ life had been disrupted once more, although not in the way he wanted.

  After Jackie’s violent escape from prison, the OPP had shown up in Conroy in force — the town was filled with squad cars, ERT vans and teams of heavily armed police. Then they left the town, empty-handed. The news media laid into them and the citizens of Conroy were furious.

  The only good thing that had happened to Hound before the current fiasco was the half day he’d spent in Orillia with Rebecca. They’d met for lunch, and she gave him a tour of the OPP complex. He’d been impressed. It made him miss her more than ever. When they’d said goodnight at Maggie’s a few days ago, Rebecca had planted a kiss on his cheek. He had been over the moon.

  Hound stopped in his tracks and sniffed the air. There was no mistaking the stench of death and decay. He left the path in search of the source and arrived at a small meadow teeming with early fall wildflowers. Walking through the grass, he noticed how silent it was suddenly. No birds sang. Near the middle, he spotted a large black shape, half-hidden in the tall grass. As he approached it
, the stench grew overpowering. He stopped and looked down and found he was staring at a body. The torso was twisted onto its side at an awkward angle, but the legs were splayed almost flat on the ground, suggesting that the man may have been lying on his back and someone had tried to roll him over. He had dark, greasy hair plastered to a narrow, ferret-like head. Blood had poured from the gaping hole in his back, and spattered the surrounding grass and flowers.

  Hound examined the grass, and could just make out faint footprints leading to the far edge of the meadow. He looked up, certain that someone was there, watching.

  He ran into the relative safety of the woods, hurried back to his Bentley and sped off. On the way to Conroy, he called O’Reilly and reported his find.

  Chapter Ten

  Jonathan won’t stop pestering me about getting together again. I think I made a mistake by accepting a job in Orillia. Maybe I should have gone to Toronto or another Ontario city, or better still, moved to another province.

  — From the diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (February 10, 2005)

  Sunday, September 30, 2007

  DI Sykes glared at the constable standing fidgeting beside him. “MacLean, call forensics again. Tell them to get here, pronto.” Sykes had rushed to the crime scene right after Constable O’Reilly called. Several detectives and a crime scene photographer were there, along with Rebecca. Everyone wore a white jumpsuit with latex gloves and foot protectors.

  “What do you make of this, DC Bradley?” Sykes ran his eyes over the corpse, apparently unmoved by the sight. He called Rebecca ‘DC’ now, even if it wasn’t official. In the short time she’d worked for him, she’d learned that he didn’t care much for protocol, he was interested in getting results. And he got them. Sykes was the top homicide detective in the Ontario Provincial Police. Rebecca admired him and secretly coveted his position, though she’d have to wait for him to retire. Meanwhile, he could teach her a lot.

  She appreciated Sykes calling her DC. She had worked hard to achieve the title. Only a couple more prep courses at the police academy, a few months of field experience, and she would lay valid claim to the title.

  She bent over to get a closer look. “At first cut, he was shot in the heart. The bullet entered his chest and came out his back. It made a mess on exit, a through-and-through shot as it’s called. Too bad, because we may never find the bullet.” She glanced around. “Or, if we’re lucky, we’ll find it lodged in a branch or tree trunk.”

  Hound was standing beside her. She was surprised that he’d been allowed to come so near the crime scene. For some reason, Sykes had developed a close interest in her friend, ever since the McBride investigation. He was always asking her about Hound — his childhood, his friends, his tracking hobby, and where his money came from. It was almost as if Sykes was suspicious of him, as if he were some kind of criminal.

  “Of course,” Sykes said now, “we won’t know with any certainty what happened to this man until forensics do their work, if they ever get here.” He glared again at MacLean, still chattering away on his cellphone. “Even then, questions will remain, which is why we’re needed.” He continued to inspect the corpse. “What else do you see?”

  Rebecca’s heart fluttered. This was a test. She’d better get it right.

  She studied the body again.

  “His left eye is wide open. Caught by surprise, perhaps. The gun he’s holding is a Glock, if I’m not mistaken, though it’s difficult to see. Maybe he was sneaking up on someone he was planning to shoot and he thought he hadn’t been seen.” Sykes’s expression was impassive.

  “And?” he said.

  Rebecca concentrated.

  “An expensive suit and new shoes — no scuff marks. Diamond cufflinks, red silk tie and a black leather belt.” She couldn’t help giggling. “Right out of the old B movies. My best guess is he’s one of Marco Perez’s men.” She recalled the shootout between Hound and O’Reilly and the hardened killers who worked for the crime boss. Perez had vanished soon afterwards, and despite Sykes’s determined efforts, there’d been no sign of him for close to three months now.

  The sight and smell of the decomposing body were getting to her, and her stomach churned, her knees were wobbly, and her head felt woozy.

  “Enough,” Sykes declared. “Go to the edge of the meadow.”

  Rebecca moved away, wondering if Sykes had made her view the body up close so she would gain experience. She breathed deeply, trying to calm her uneasy stomach.

  Meanwhile, Sykes had gone over to the photographers and was chatting amicably with them. Just another routine day at the office, Rebecca thought. Feeling a bit steadier, she returned to the body to look for any details she had missed. Hound had disappeared. She hadn’t seen him leave. She scanned the meadow but he was nowhere in sight.

  Blow flies were crawling over the festering wound — laying eggs. No maggots were visible yet, so the man couldn’t have been dead for more than a few days, certainly less than a week. The late September days had been warm and dry, the evenings cool.

  “Come back for seconds, I see,” Sykes said.

  She smiled thinly and resumed her inspection, somehow managing to keep her stomach settled. Death and decay were something she would have to get used to, so she might as well begin today.

  “What was Hound doing here?” she asked.

  Sykes gazed across the meadow. “He asked again if he could join the search, so I caved in and gave him permission.”

  “What if he disturbs the evidence?”

  “He won’t touch anything vital,” Sykes replied. “I’d stake my reputation on it.” He grunted. “In fact, I already have. It’s a breach of protocol. If you tell Cartwright, he’ll find a way to use that against me.” He raised his eyebrows.

  “Mum’s the word.” Rebecca zipped an index finger across her mouth.

  “Never forget, Rebecca. Time is of the essence in a murder investigation. The sooner we get on the trail of the killer, the greater the chance we have of catching him — or her. In this case, we have a good idea who did this.” He looked at the body.

  Rebecca nodded. “Jackie Caldwell. Best shot in Georgian Bay, specializing in human targets.”

  “We searched this area just two days ago and found nothing. She must have shot this man before then, given the condition of his body. We walked right past him.” He turned to Rebecca. “You know what she really wants, don’t you?” His lips compressed into a thin line.

  “Me.” She flinched. “Probably guessed I would come to Conroy with the search team. Then why didn’t she try to kill me there?” She understood why Jackie hated her. In his gold mining scam Steven Bradley, Rebecca’s grandfather, had ruined Jackie’s family. Added to that, her own investigation into Abigail McBride’s death had resulted in Jackie’s imprisonment on a charge of murder. She nodded somberly at the corpse. “That could have been me. It might still be me if we don’t catch Jackie soon.”

  “That’s one of the reasons why I let Hound join us,” Sykes replied, with a hint of a smile. “Alright, Rebecca, I grant that we need his help. It still puzzles me why Jackie would shoot one of Perez’s men, given Kingsley’s close ties to the syndicate. The slippery bastard’s out on bail, awaiting trial for money laundering and kidnapping Freddie Stafford. He wouldn’t be free to roam the streets if Stafford hadn’t vanished, or if Jackie had agreed to testify against him. Now that she’s on the loose, there’s no one left to speak against him. We don’t have enough proof of his illegal activities to win against him in court. With Freddie gone, it’s possible that McBride will get off scot free, especially after Jackie admitted that she murdered both Abigail and Herman without his knowledge.” He swore under his breath.

  “Hey!” Hound’s baritone voice boomed out from the far side of the meadow. He was standing in a hollow, next to a tall tree, and only the top of his enormous head was visible.

  “Over here.” He waved at them. “The place she shot him from.”

  Sykes and Rebecca ran over to join him.


  “She was hidden behind this tree.” Hound gestured at an eastern hemlock a few yards away. “There’s spent gunpowder on the bark. I can track her from here, if you’ll allow me to.”

  Sykes hesitated. “Alright, but don’t go near her footprints. And leave your protective gear on.”

  Rebecca smiled at the sight of Hound wearing a jumpsuit that reached to the middle of his chest. The arms were tied around his shoulders to keep the suit from slipping off.

  Hound bent over to examine the base of the tree. He slowly raised his eyes and traced a line running from the tree into the dark woods. He straightened and began to pace along a path that was invisible to Rebecca, and Sykes too, she assumed. Then he stopped and stared into the forest ahead of them. “I know where she came from.” He frowned.

  “Where?” Sykes asked.

  “My cave.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I’ve tried my best to get to know Detective Sergeant Sykes, Cartwright’s second-in-command at the CIB, but he’s avoiding me. He brushes off all my attempts to meet with him or even talk to him. I don’t know the reason, except that he and Cartwright don’t get along. But why take it out on me?

  — From the diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (June 7, 2005)

  Sunday, September 30, 2007

  The sight of the clearing in front of Hound’s cave brought back all the terror of Rebecca’s near-death encounter with Jackie Caldwell. But for Hound’s courageous intervention, she would have died there. His bravery had earned him a bullet wound in the shoulder. And if DI Sykes hadn’t arrived in time and winged Jackie, Hound would have been killed, and his friend, Shorty Davis, along with Rebecca. So she owed her life to both Hound and Sykes. But Hound had been willing to die for her, and she often thought about that. They seemed to have some strange connection, the nature of which she didn’t understand.