Читать книгу A convenient proposal - C.J. Carmichael - Страница 8

SHE COULDN’T STOP SHAKING as she stared at the gun—her own Smith & Wesson—in a carefully labeled plastic bag. The weapon was Crown evidence; she wouldn’t see it again for months.

On second thought, make that ever.

“You’d better sit down, Kelly.”

“What?” RCMP officer Kelly Shannon looked from the .38 to the familiar face of her commanding officer, Staff Sergeant Springer.

That brief thought of her future, of there being moments, days, years that would follow, made her so damn weary. All she wanted was to curl up on the rain-dampened ground and be left alone. But Springer had stuck by her side since he’d arrived at the Thunder Bar M forty minutes ago.

“Let me take you to your car. You need to get off your feet.”

If Kelly hadn’t already understood the gravity of the situation, the staff sergeant’s consideration and gentle tone would have tipped her off.

“I’m fine.” She tried to protest, but large, well-muscled Springer put a hand to her elbow and courteously led the way to her patrol car. She noted her driver’s-side door was still open, from that instant when she’d leaped out—galvanized by the sight of Danny Mizzoni holding a gun to her sister’s head.

Springer settled her in the passenger side of the car, then checked his watch. “Backup from Calgary should be here shortly.”

Kelly leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes briefly. Sitting wasn’t such a bad idea. Her trembling was getting worse. Springer must have noticed, too, because he found a blanket and settled it over her lap.

“Thanks.” She knew this calm wouldn’t last long. Once the officers from Ident and the Major Crimes Unit arrived, there would be hours’—if not days’—worth of work to be done. She’d seen it before.

Homicides were rare in the rustic mountain community of Canmore, Alberta, but two-and-a-half years ago a young girl, Jilly Beckett, had been shot dead on this very property. Kelly had worked on that case.

But she wouldn’t be working on this one.

“Someone from MAP will be here shortly, too.” Springer patted her shoulder.

The representative from the Member Assistance Program would guide her through the next few hours. She would be suspended from duty, of course. There would be an investigation. Springer had already notified her of her rights. At some point she would need to hire a lawyer.

Anxiety set off another spasm of trembling. Kelly filled her lungs with air, then groped for the badge she’d always worn so proudly. Being a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police meant carrying on a tradition of honor. A tradition of which she was no longer worthy.

“I suppose you’ll want this,” she said, fumbling with the catch.

Springer put a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. “That isn’t necessary, Kelly. Keep it. You’re still one of us.”

The wail of approaching sirens crescendoed with the rumbling of tires on gravel as the squad cars from Calgary arrived. Kelly watched them stream onto Thunder Bar M land. They lined up behind the ambulance, where the paramedics were standing by the open back doors and watching calmly, knowing it would still be some time before the coroner gave them permission to move the body.

Car doors and voices slammed into the afternoon quiet. Springer’s hand tightened on her shoulder. She would soon be taken to the station, while these men and women worked at recording the details of the crime scene, collecting and cataloguing every shred of potential evidence.

How Dylan must hate this, she thought—having his land overrun with police and emergency workers. She wondered about her sister Cathleen, and hoped she was recovering from the shock of having Danny Mizzoni’s gun held to her head. Dylan and Cathleen were out by the creek now. Sharon, Danny’s wife—widow—and two kids, were in the kitchen with Danny’s brother.

Thinking of those innocent bystanders, Kelly couldn’t hold back a groan. Their pain, their anger, she could only imagine. Oh, what have I done?

The body was still prone on the top step of the veranda. Her shot had struck Danny square in the chest. Death had been almost instantaneous.

“You did exactly what you were supposed to do.” Springer had crouched beside her. He was talking like a coach preparing her for the last game of the season. “You followed procedure every step of the way. Don’t worry, Kelly. You’re young…you’ll get over this. Everything’s going to work out fine.”

The arrival of the team from Calgary had transformed the quiet crime scene into a bustling center of activity. Kelly watched the photographer check the lighting before taking some stills of the body. Someone else leaned over to examine the bullet wound in the victim’s chest.

So much blood.

Kelly looked away. A woman approached her from one of the parked police cars. Mid-thirties, short dark hair, tentative smile. Probably with Member Assistance. Springer obviously thought so, too. He let go of Kelly’s shoulder and stood.

“Staff Sergeant Springer,” he said, stepping forward to meet the new arrival.

“Corporal Webster,” said the woman.

Kelly glanced back at the body. One of the Ident men was making a chalk outline of the victim’s position on the rotting wood porch. From the corner of her eye, Kelly noticed movement from the back of the house.

The victim’s brother, Mick Mizzoni, also the editor of the Canmore Leader, was coming to check things out. He’d been en route to Calgary when Dylan had called him on Sharon’s instructions. As a result, he’d made it here even before the squad cars from Canmore. Now the broodily handsome man circled the busy police officers, his body visibly tense, his expression grim.

Abruptly he switched directions to face her. Kelly didn’t allow herself to shift her gaze or even blink. She felt his condemnation, the current of loathing traveling from man to woman the way electrical energy had passed from clouds to earth in the storm earlier.

As the moment between them stretched, she fought back the instinct to tell him she was sorry. No matter what words she chose, they would come out sounding trite.

Besides, apologies for homicides were rarely accepted.