I pulled my foot into the car a millisecond before he slammed the door. Wet snow filled my beloved black UGGs with the Swarovski crystal button closure. If they were ruined, I would never be able to replace them. I’d have to buy new ones, in a different style.

Did Mr. Davidson instruct me to take the first left, or the first right?

CHAPTER

twenty-four

A call to the high school verified that Earl Archman was at home, recuperating from his fall in the Canadian Tire parking lot. His admin assistant expressed some concern and asked Neil to call her back if Earl needed her help with anything.

His phone rang as he pulled up in front of Archman’s house, a small, neat bungalow with no distinguishing features except a life-sized stuffed Grinch sitting on a rocking chair on the porch. “Ed. What’s up?”

“Have you talked to Earl Archman yet?”

“I’m just about to. I’m in front of his house now.”

“Glad I caught you, then. I remembered something I meant to tell you on Monday when he had his accident. I forgot, sorry. I’ve delivered three babies since then.”

“Forgot what, Ed?”

“He didn’t break his arm when he fell on the ice on Monday morning.”

“What? The guy got hauled into the ER on a stretcher. Cornwall and the manager of the store saw him fall.” Had they watched the man actually fall? Or did they just notice him lying on the ground?

“I’m not saying he didn’t fall. But the x-ray showed the break was just starting to heal, and inflammation was too pronounced for an hour-old injury. He had some other bruises that were a day or two old. He said he took a spill on his front walk the day before, Sunday, but didn’t realize he had broken a bone until he slipped again on Monday and was in too much pain to get up.”

“Is that possible, Ed? Can you fracture a bone and not realize it?”

“Sure. Especially when you carry as much weight as this man. I x-rayed his feet while he was in the hospital in case he had stress fractures there.”

“What are you saying? He’s overweight?” Neil thought of the photo in the yearbook, a young man who looked to be thirty or so, good-looking, slim …

“Morbidly obese. He’s only mid-forties, but I doubt he’ll see fifty. And I told him so. No point pulling your punches with people in that stage of denial. Anyway, I just thought you should know.”

Sitting across from the man in his living room, Neil was glad of Ed’s heads-up. His right arm was encased in plaster. The furniture was shabby, the type of furniture a single man kept because he never actually looked at his surroundings. A fine coating of dust covered the surfaces of the tables, and piles of magazines dedicated to hunting and the gun enthusiast littered the bare hardwood floor.

The man’s eyes were almost fully hidden by folds of flesh and Neil couldn’t tell their colour. His hair was plentiful and dark brown, with no hint of grey. Mounds of flesh overflowed the flowered armchair, and Neil struggled not to let the unexpected wave of compassion he felt for this hulk of a man show.

“Sorry to bother you, sir. I know you need your rest, but I’m hoping you can help us in our investigation.”

“Let’s see if I can save us both some time, Chief Redfern. I knew both the victims, Faith Davidson and Sophie Wingman, or Sophie Quantz. The girls were students of mine many years ago.”

Archman shifted uncomfortably and took a drink of water from a plastic bottle he held in his left hand.

“Do you remember anything about the victims that might shed some light on what happened to them?”

“Well, now, Chief, that’s a broad question. Faith was a good student, excellent in math. She applied to, and was accepted at, Ryerson in Toronto. I can’t remember what she was studying, but whatever it was, she would have done well. Life really is a bitch sometimes, because that girl had potential.

“Sophie? Now, Sophie was a good student as well, but her focus was more on screwing every boy in her class, even the ones with steady girlfriends. But she did a complete turnaround after high school graduation, if I heard correctly. Went on to Divinity College, then returned as an Episcopal priest. Surprised everyone. Married Kelly Quantz, who had been lusting after her since she was fifteen. As far as I know, he worshipped from afar and never stepped over the line into sex with an underage girl.”

He paused for another sip of water and to catch his breath. He slipped an inhaler out of his shirt pocket and took several puffs.

“Asthma,” he explained. “My own fault. I should have given up smoking when I was twenty-five, instead of waiting until I was forty-five. Last month.”

“Both girls were murdered,” Neil pointed out.

“I realize that,” Archman snapped. “What else do you want to know?”

“Tell me about the rest of the class.”

“You mean, the few that are still here?” He indicated the 2000 yearbook resting on the coffee table between them. “I refreshed my memory. Not that I really needed to. That class was unforgettable, and not in a good way. There are only four that still live here, four that are still alive, I should say.”

“And they are?”

“Come off it, Chief. You know who they are as well as I do. Fang Davidson, Charles Leeds, Michael Bains, and your own Bliss Moonbeam Cornwall.”

Neil winced. Talk about a conflict of interest. “Let’s start with Fang. What was he like in high school?”

“As you know, Fang lives in Dogtown. There was a certain mystique surrounding students from Dogtown back then, and there still is. A collection of mobile homes outside of town, a closed family unit. We’ve had a lot of kids in our schools over the years from Dogtown, and, on the surface, it’s hard to tell them from any of the others.”

“On the surface?”

“Not as many go to university or college. But they’re just as smart. Our best mechanics, hairstylists, clerks, snowplow drivers, caterers, landscapers — they all come from Dogtown. They keep Bruce County running. And the teeth! My God, I never met a kid from Dogtown who didn’t have naturally perfect teeth. A geneticist would have a field day testing those families.”

Neil pictured the finely formed teeth in the skull found in the locker. “So, no trouble with Fang?”

“Just the usual pranks. Nothing malicious. Played well with others, as they say. Well-liked.” Archman shrugged. “Nothing special comes to mind.”

“How about Charles Leeds?”

“Again, nothing special. A good enough student, but not interested in a career other than taking over the Canadian Tire franchise from his grandfather. Earned a business degree. He was under the thumb of a girl a year behind him, Tabby, or Kitty, or some such stupid name. He was part of Bliss’s posse. She led him around by the nose, and I think he had a crush on her, but like I said, his girlfriend kept him on a pretty short lead. A regular kid. Got kids of his own now, I hear.”

“Three of them,” Neil answered. “And Mike Bains?”

Archman paused for more water and another puff of asthma inhalant. “Ah, Michael. A cut above the rest, that boy. A bit of a sociopath.”

Neil nearly dropped his pen. From what Cornwall recounted of her conversation with Archman, the sun shone out of Mike Bains’s ass. “Sociopath? Why do you say that?”

“He analyzed people and stored the information until he could find a way to manipulate them with it. He knew where he wanted to go and didn’t care who he stepped on to get there. He knew even in high school that he was going to become a lawyer first, then go into politics. He’s always had his eye on the prime minister’s job. Would he resort to murder to achieve his goals? I can’t say, but then, I’m not an expert on personality disorders.”