Читать книгу Do or Die - Barbara Fradkin - Страница 7

Green arrived back at his office six minutes later, his colour high with excitement.

“We’re on the scent! I can feel it!”

Sullivan looked up from Green’s desk with relief. His eyes were half-shut with fatigue, and he stretched noisily to get the stiffness out of his joints. “Jeez, Mike, I should be the inspector and you should be the field man. I thought you said you’d be back in an hour. I’ve been manning the fort for two and a half hours. This Peter Weiss creep has called three times. Jules is circling. There’s so much stuff coming in, I can’t keep up. So I set a progress meeting for three-thirty. I hope that’s okay.”

Green glanced at his watch. It gave him barely half an hour, but the meeting was timely. He needed to get an overview of the findings and then focus the investigation to follow the leads he had uncovered.

“That’s good. Anything on the student in the red plaid shirt?”

Sullivan shook his head. “But your wife called. She wants you to call, because she’s got the long night shift tonight.”

He frowned as he calculated his time. Sharon worked as a psychiatric nurse on an inpatient ward at the Royal Ottawa Hospital. The long night shift meant seven p.m. to seven a.m., which gave him barely three hours before he had to be home. To encourage father-son bonding, and to help them save money for a house, he had agreed to babysit in the evenings and nights if Sharon had to work shift, and they would only pay a sitter if both were working days. But things kept getting in the way, and the old excuses were wearing thin.

“Did you tell her I was on the Jonathan Blair case?”

“I told her you’d call.”

Even he wants me to grow up, Green thought with a sigh. He picked up the phone and could tell from Sharon’s irritated croak that he had woken her. Oh no, Tony’s nap time. When she worked the night shift, she caught sleep whenever she could. How different from four years ago, when he’d first walked onto her ward to investigate the death of a psychologist. He could still remember how her warmth and humour had taken his breath away.

“Will you be home, Mike?”

“Is Mrs. Louks available?” The elderly widow across the hall rarely went out and had often rescued him from a child care crisis.

“I’m sure she is, but I thought Tony might enjoy your company. It’s such a rarity.”

He winced. “I’ll try to get there.”

“Try?”

He suppressed a flash of irritation. There was nothing he hated more than being on the moral low ground. “I tell you what. I promise I’ll do my best, and if you have to, take him to Mrs. Louks and I’ll pick him up as soon as I can.”

He felt Sullivan’s disapproving eyes on his back when he hung up, but he didn’t turn. As if to counterbalance the depravity he confronted every day, Sullivan had dedicated his life to being the perfect father and he set a tough standard, which Green rarely met. Tossing a quick “Back soon” over his shoulder, he headed for the door.

“Mike! Where are you going?”

Green paused on the threshold. “I’ll be back for the meeting. I’ve just got one last thing…” Without waiting for the wrath, he ducked out.

*

The University Sciences building was a squat concrete bunker built in the psychedelic sixties, but more evocative of post-war Moscow. Virtually the entire fourth floor was devoted to the offices, labs and equipment rooms of Myles Halton’s research group. Green imagined that normally it was alive with the bustle of students and the hum of equipment, but on the afternoon following Jonathan Blair’s murder, everything was hushed. Most of the offices were empty, and only one secretary sat at her desk, staring at her blank computer screen. Somewhere in the background he could hear the murmur of voices, but there was no one to be seen.

The secretary was called back from her trance by his cough. She raised startled gray eyes, which made her look even younger than her probable twenty years. A pretty secretary, he thought. My first clue to Halton’s character.

“I’d like to see Professor Halton, please.”

“Uh…” she wavered, until he produced his badge. “He spoke to two detectives earlier,” she supplied hastily. “After that, he went out.”

He took down her name in his notebook. “Could you tell me where the professor went?”

“I didn’t ask. We’re all upset, sir. Professor Halton told us to take the day off.”

“Is there anyone here from his staff?”

“Umm...” Her hands fluttered to her face distractedly. “I could check for you. Mr. Difalco was here earlier, he might still be here. Dr. Miller’s in his office, I think.”

“Is Raquel Haddad here?” He knew she wasn’t—she would be in Beirut by now—but he wanted to see her reaction. For a split second her eyes widened, before she drew her brows down over them in a frown.

“Miss Haddad doesn’t really work here. She’s only been helping out a bit with the research.”

“Helping who?”

The brows drew lower. “I wouldn’t know. I’m Dr. Halton’s secretary, and I don’t keep track of all the projects his students are doing. I only type their research when it’s part of the book.”

“What book?”