Читать книгу Death in October - Lowell Inc. Green - Страница 10

Aside from two men parked in a cruiser at the end of the laneway, they were all gathered in the Henry garage, which had been hurriedly converted, into a temporary command post. Charron had used his cell to make several calls to his office in Hull and to Montreal. The missing girl’s mother had been tracked down in Toronto and hoped to catch the first flight to Ottawa. Thus far no one had been able to locate Therese Gratton’s only relative, a son living in Windsor.

For several minutes they sat in silence, except for Grant, who grimly paced back and forth across the garage entrance, staring at the black outline of his home a few metres away. A rooster began to crow from the small chicken coop at the rear of the garage, then another. Golden Pencilled Hamburgs, colourful, exotic chickens raised from eggs by Lee. It would soon be dawn.

Charron glanced at his watch then turned to look closely at Grant who had stopped his pacing for a moment and stood slumped against the garage doorframe. Earlier, he had raged at the superintendent. “Why the hell aren’t you out looking for my daughter? Why are we just sitting around?”

Charron gently explained that he’d called Montreal for assistance. Two detectives, including the province’s leading criminal investigator were already on their way and he didn’t want his men trampling around in the dark, destroying God knows what evidence. Bell Telephone was already repairing the phone-line that had been cut at the end of the laneway and someone was on his way from Hull to put a tap on Grant’s phone. An APB had been issued with the descriptions of both his daughter and Madame Gratton to all police forces in Quebec. Both the RCMP and the Ontario Provincial Police had been notified along with Ottawa City police.

Stepping forward, Charron touched Grant lightly on the shoulder.

“It’s almost 4:30,” he said kindly, “can I have one of my men get you a coffee or anything?”

Grant shook his head and said grimly, “Look, sorry for the blowup, but are you certain there isn’t something else we could be doing? I just can’t stand this sitting around waiting. It doesn’t make any sense when...”

“But we aren’t just sitting around,” insisted Charron. “Our people will be here very soon from Montreal. There’s only one highway in and out of here, as you know, and we’ve got roadblocks up everywhere. Until we get some daylight, there isn’t much else we can do.” He paused, then turned to look directly at Jake sprawled on the floor, his head propped on a feedbag. “And as for the Ottawa Police, they have no business up here at all in any kind of official capacity.”

There was no response from Jake whose mind was on something else.

Constable Stapley had managed to round up a few light bulbs, but Charron had instructed that nothing in the house was to be touched until the special investigators arrived from Montreal.

Shortly after his arrival, the superintendent, alone, careful not to disturb anything, had gone from room to room with a flashlight to insure there was no obvious evidence, or so he told Grant. What he really wanted to be certain of was that a body, or perhaps even two, had not been left sprawled inside, but he found nothing amiss other than the broken lights, the gruesome desk lamp and the licence plate. There was not the slightest sign of a struggle.

He spent a long time staring at the licence plate still lying on the desk in the eerie light.

“Damn,” he whispered into the shadows, “has it come to this?”