Читать книгу Meg Harris Mysteries 7-Book Bundle - R.J. Harlick - Страница 39

I frantically dialled Mother’s number only to hear: “Sorry I’m not at home to take your call, but please—”

Frustrated, I slammed the receiver down. I waited a couple of minutes, tried again and got the same insipid greeting. With my eyes swimming from exhaustion, I decided a couple of hours sleep was required. Perhaps by the time I woke up, Mother would finally be home. However, when I woke up midway through the morning, feeling somewhat revitalized, I failed to reach her again. This time I left her a message to phone me immediately.

I had slightly better success with the hospital. A talkative nurse told me that although Tommy was steadily improving, he was under heavy sedation. Unfortunately, she anticipated it would be at least another day, if not two, before he would be able to talk.

I received this news with mixed emotions. Although very glad he was improving, I worried that any delay in Tommy’s identification of his assailant would be too late. This would-be killer, who I strongly suspected was the murderer of Marie and Louis, would be halfway across the continent by the time Tommy woke up.

Tommy had almost died because of me. When I’d seen the elongated “y” footprint of Marie’s killer by Tommy’s doorstep, I should’ve gone straight to Decontie. Unlike me, he wouldn’t have jumped to a knee-jerk accusation. He would’ve recognized the possibility that the killer was after Tommy and kept him safe.

I felt I had to do something to help, but I didn’t know what. I knew I couldn’t just sit there and wait. So I decided to drive to Tommy’s house, where I assumed the police were carrying out their investigation. As I’d told LaFramboise early that morning, since Tommy’s car was only a short distance beyond the driveway when I found him, it was likely he’d been shot at home.

Although I was surprised to see Tommy’s car still parked at the side of the main road where I’d left it the night before, I figured Sgt. LaFramboise had decided to investigate the site of the shooting first. However, to my dismay and disgust, I didn’t find any police vehicles parked out in front of the shack, nor was there indication they’d even checked it out. I felt my temperature rise at the thought of LaFramboise’s blinkered arrogance. He’d probably decided there was no hurry to find the would-be killer of an Indian.

I was on the verge of turning my truck around to track Chief Decontie down at the Migiskan Police station when I caught sight of a large patch of what looked to be blood on the dirt drive. I jumped out to have a closer look and saw a trail of dark blotches leading towards the side of the house. I followed them, stepping carefully to avoid destroying possible police evidence.

At the corner of the house, the trail of blood disappeared into a tangle of weeds and low brush. Although Louis had managed over the years to hack a clearing out of the dense bush at the front of the house, he’d never attempted to do so elsewhere. Sun-starved balsam and poplar crowded against the side wall of the shack, making it appear impassable. However, a faint gap in the vegetation seemed to lead towards the back of the house. I followed it.

Once out of the wind, the sudden eerie stillness made me think twice about venturing into these woods. Surely the gunman had taken off after the shooting. I glanced nervously around. But in dense bush, where every tree was a potential hiding place, it was impossible to know if you were completely alone.

Within a few feet, I found a pool of blood partially congealed in the hollow of a large rock. A trail of broken twigs and crushed weeds led further into the dark woods, away from the cabin. I hesitated. But curiosity overcame my remaining fears and I crept deeper into the gloom.

From the zigzag line of Tommy’s track, it was obvious that he had been weak and confused. Several well-trampled spots suggested he might have stumbled and fallen. And where his track intersected an established path, he’d lain for a period of time. The dirt and surrounding rock were sticky with his blood, the earth scoured from his attempts to get up. I could almost feel Tommy’s desperation to keep from dying alone in these woods, miles from help. I was surprised the gunman hadn’t finished him off, but perhaps Tommy had remained still, possibly unconscious, for so long, the guy had assumed he was dead.

I jumped at a sudden loud bang and jerked around to see the plank door of a small roughly built shed swing open. Another gust of wind sent it slamming back against the doorframe. From under the roofline of the outhouse, two holes, shaped like eyes, stared back at me smugly as if saying, “I know something you don’t.” On the ground, directly in front of the door, I found more of Tommy’s blood. Then I spied a perfectly round hole amongst the irregular knotholes of the door. Curious, I ran my fingers over it and felt metal. The shiny end of what was probably a bullet stared back at me. Tommy had been shot here.

I scanned the nearby underbrush in an attempt to learn more and noticed a gleam of black. I reached down and pulled up a metal box. Its lid swung open, and out floated two brand new twenty dollar bills. And a few feet from the box I finally found the link to Marie’s killer. The exact replica of the elongated “y” footprint I’d seen on the beach where Marie had died. I knew Tommy hadn’t made it. Last night he’d been wearing Kodiacs.

And embedded in the track was a crushed cigarette. So Marie’s killer smoked. But since a lot of people smoked, I doubted it would provide much of a clue.

At that moment, I heard what I thought was a car door slam. I froze, then relaxed with the thought that the police had finally arrived. I debated returning to show them what I’d found, but figured they could follow the trail of blood as easily as I. Besides, LaFramboise would make me leave before I learned all I could about Marie’s killer.

I continued my search and found a small packet of new twenties lying on the ground. Was this the money Tommy had mentioned last night?

A faint glimmer caught my eye. Thinking it was more money, maybe some coins, I reached into the underbrush and laughed out loud when I pulled up a man’s gold link bracelet. A clue, I thought, a real clue to this killer.

“Hi Megs, what are you doing?” a voice suddenly said from behind me.

They say sudden shock can add years to your life. This one sure did.

“Good God, Gareth,” I said, slowly turning around, my heart pounding. “What are you doing here?”

I stared at the cigarette in his hand, not sure if I wanted to draw the obvious conclusion.

“I heard a noise, I came to check.”

“I mean this house, this property. Why are you here? How do you even know about it?” I started to back up, wondering when the police would finally arrive.

“Maybe I should ask the same of you?”

As I stepped back, my elbow knocked against a tree. A glimmer of gold slid from my hand and dropped to the ground. I reached down to pick the bracelet up and stopped.

Staring back at me was the initial “G”, engraved on the band.