Читать книгу Shroud of Roses - Gloria Ferris - Страница 8

Overnight, a storm had blown in from Lake Huron, dumping seven centimetres of fresh snow on the county. Neil didn’t look forward to the barrage of multiple vehicle pile-ups on Highway 21.

When he entered the station on Sunday morning, it was deserted except for Lavinia, their civilian dispatcher. Her weekend replacement was on maternity leave, and Lavinia seemed in no hurry to line up a sub. He asked her to contact the two officers setting up radar on the highway at both ends of the town limits and tell them to pull over motorists to warn them of the hazardous driving conditions. He had another officer patrolling the residential streets, and a fourth had the unrewarding task of touring the outlying concession roads checking for God knows what because nothing ever happened out there.

Looking out his office window, Neil could just make out the flat-topped roof of the old high school, two blocks over. Snow would have blown in through the doors by now. No harm done to the crime scene. He’d take a last look around later before releasing the building to Cutler and Davidson.

Neil turned to the radio on the windowsill behind his desk. “Danny? Are you anywhere near Dogtown?”

“Just coming up to it now, Chief.” Over the static, Danny sounded morose. Nobody liked the township detail, and the squad car always returned low on gas and full of snack wrappers.

“Good. Tell me what’s going on.”

“The gate is closed across the compound entrance. No tire tracks in the snow. Smoke coming from two or three residences and some outbuildings. Some kids and dogs playing outside.”

“Thanks, Danny, that’s all.”

Sunday morning might be a good time to catch Cutler and Davidson at home. He wanted to talk to Earl Archman, as well. But it was 8:00 a.m. — too early to show up on anyone’s doorstep.

His mind wandered back to earlier this morning, to Cornwall, barely opening one eye when he asked her if she wanted some scrambled eggs. She had stared at him through her tangled hair and blown a raspberry at him. Strange how they could communicate so well without words.

He opened the yearbook she loaned him last night and turned to the pages that showed pictures and write-ups for the graduates of year 2000. Thirteen young faces looked back at him, six boys and seven girls, including Cornwall. Even at seventeen, she was hot. Twelve years of Mike Bains, through university and a bumpy marriage, had stripped away the innocence shining from her eyes in the photo. Unfortunately, time had that effect on most people. He definitely wasn’t the same kid who graduated from university and applied to Police College.

Before he could stroll too far down memory lane to the dark places in his own past, his desk phone rang.

“Hey, Neil, it’s Ed Reiner. Got a minute?”

“Sure, Ed. Are you at the hospital?”

“I’m at home. I sent the bones to Toronto, but I did a quick examination before I packed them up. Anything I say isn’t official, of course, but since it’ll be a long wait for the lab results, maybe I can give you something to work with regarding her identification.”

“Ed, I’ll be grateful for whatever you can tell me. Do you want to meet for coffee?”

“Mason Jar, half an hour?”

Neil spent the wait thinking about the discussion that he and Cornwall had last night. Of the other six female graduates, Cornwall knew the whereabouts and the married names, if applicable, for all of them except one. One girl she insisted would surface in his missing person search.

He left the yearbook on his desk and went to meet Ed. The wind blew straight at him as he descended the steps to the street and walked next door to the Mason Jar. He ordered a cup of coffee and watched the swirling snow through the window until Ed burst through the door in a flurry of energy.

“I just have a few minutes, Neil. Got a patient in labour, only three centimetres dilated so far, but that doesn’t mean anything with a first pregnancy.” He placed his phone on the table and called to the waitress to bring him coffee and a doughnut.

Neil looked at the doughnut. When he ate one in public, he felt like a stereotype. He got out his notebook and pen.

Ed pulled off his orange toque, his scalp shining under the Tiffany-style lamp hanging over their booth. He leaned over the table, ready to bolt if his phone rang. “I mentioned yesterday that the bones are those of a young female of slight build. Okay, after a closer look, I believe she was between sixteen and twenty. Her teeth are exceptional, no cavities, straight, can’t tell with superficial examination whether braces straightened them or she was born that way. I found some long, dark hairs on the skull. The skull, by the way, isn’t abnormally thin, so the depression was unlikely to have been caused by a light tap. By the colour of the bones, remaining tissue, and the condition of the scraps of clothing, she’s been in the locker for years. If the school has been closed for more than ten years, I’ll bet she’s been there that long, or close to it.” He paused to bite into his doughnut.

Neil decided to play devil’s advocate. “A crime occurred. No doubt about that. But this might not be murder. Could be she fell against something, which caused the fracture. Someone panicked and hid her in the locker. We’re waiting for residue results from a washroom sink.”

“It’s possible, I guess. That’s for you to determine. Most importantly, who is she? A young girl like that must have been missed by someone. What about missing person reports?”

“I have Thea working on that. But we may have a possible identification …”

His cell vibrated in his pocket. As he listened to Lavinia’s voice, Ed buttoned his coat and got up to leave. Neil stopped him with a raised hand.

“What exactly is the priority, Lavinia?” He listened for a minute. “Where? I’m on my way.”

He looked up. “If your patient can spare you for a while yet, Ed, you need to come with me.”

Ed pulled his cap farther down his forehead. Behind his glasses, his blue eyes gleamed. “Where are we going?”

“St. Paul’s Episcopal Church. A dead priest.”