“Miss Zaborsky is making tea for Bliss,” Bernie explained.

“Stay in the house with them until you’re relieved. I’ll send someone from day shift as soon as possible. Now, where is Ms. Cornwall?”

Bernie pointed down the hall. “In her bedroom.”

“When the stores open, will you contact someone to replace the window? Thanks, Bernie.”

He had to stop himself from running down the hall. He threw the door open without knocking first. When he saw Cornwall rocking in the middle of her bed with a green knitted blanket wrapped around her body, he nearly lost it.

Neil shut the door and with two steps he dropped to the floor beside her and pulled her into his arms. She started to cry. Her body shook, and he held her tighter. She stopped crying and squeaked. He realized he was squeezing too tightly and eased off.

“Where were you?” Her voice rose, but at least the tears had stopped. “I needed you.”

“I’m sorry. I had to ensure our suspects were paid an official visit as soon as possible. Once I knew you weren’t hurt, I made a call myself.”

“Apology accepted.” She forced a smile. “So, who did you see?”

Neil took a closer look at her hands and feet. Bloody lengths of toilet paper trailed from her fingers. “Are you in much pain? Why didn’t you tell Thea?”

“She was busy with cop stuff. They’re only scratches.”

Neil searched through her medicine cabinet in the ensuite. “Where’s your first aid-stuff?”

“Under the sink.”

He had to rummage behind an assortment of feminine-hygiene products and hair rollers before he found the right container. While he applied antibiotic ointment and Band-Aids to her cuts, he tried to sound offhand as he asked, “Where were you standing when the window was blown out?”

“Right in front of it. If I hadn’t moved to turn on the outside lights, my brains would be splattered all over the room.” Her bottom lip trembled and she bit down on it. Tears pooled in her eyes again.

There was a soft rap on the door. Rae stood on the other side, a tray balanced in one arm. Neil took it from her and shoved the door closed with his foot. He poured tea into a cup and added some milk before holding the cup to her lips. He noticed her hair was different again. This time there were only a couple of colours in the mix.

She took a slurp of tea, choked, and spat it out over the front of his shirt. “Shit. Hot. Sorry.” Her little hand reached out to wipe the tea off his chest.

He gently covered her hand with his. “Don’t get your Band-Aids wet.”

“You never told me which suspect you visited. Is it me? Am I being interrogated without counsel?” Her mouth turned up at the corners.

Thank God the shock was wearing off. He wrapped her a little tighter in the blanket and held the cooling tea to her lips again. “Careful. Just a sip. I sent teams to talk to Davidson, Leeds, Brickle, and Quantz. Tony is interviewing the Bainses.”

“I hope Tony gets out alive. So, by process of elimination, you must have gone to Earl Archman’s house. By yourself?”

An expression he had seen before flitted across her face. What was it? “Why not by myself? I’m a big boy.” Guilt. That was it. She had been up to something. Wasn’t it just yesterday that he told her to stay out of the investigation? Did she …?

“You talked to Earl Archman, didn’t you?”

“I told you last night that I spoke to a potential new client.”

Neil closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. No way in hell would Cornwall ever stay out of police business if she decided she had something to contribute. Either he had to accept her relentless interference, or one of them had to leave town.

He opened his eyes to find her watching him with a calculated expression on her face. “Well, got something to say, Cornwall?”

“I guess. But tell me this first. Did Thea dig a .32 calibre slug out of my wall?”

“We found a bullet, but we don’t know what it is yet. We also found a casing outside your living room window, a small one.”

She inspected her fingernails, painted a dark blue, but chipped and ragged now. “Earl may have divulged that he has some Second World War pistols, from his great-uncle, I think he said.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this immediately?” This should be good. Her stories always were.

“Well, he asked me not to. I didn’t like to break a confidence.”

“Really, Cornwall? I understand you’ve been through an ordeal, but I expected a better excuse from you. This one is hardly up to your standard.”

Her eyes sparked fire and she threw back the blanket revealing an orange sweatshirt with the words “No, I’m Not Deaf, I’m Ignoring You” stamped across the front. Inexplicably, she had managed to put makeup on. Her lips glistened with pink gloss. Hopping off the bed, she put her wrists on her hips and leaned toward him. “I guess you’ve used up your weekly quota of sympathy. Let me know when you get another delivery and I’ll be sure to invite you over.”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Cornwall. You screwed up again and you know it. You should have told me right away about Archman’s guns. What if he shot me? How would you feel about betraying a confidence then?”

Shit, now he’d done it. She threw herself back on the bed. Her body shuddered as she buried her face in a pillow. He didn’t know whether to administer an official reprimand or take her into his arms again.

Before he could reach for her, she whirled around, leaped up, and threw her arms around his neck. “I’m so, so sorry, Redfern. I could have sent you into a fatal trap. I’m pretty sure all your suspects have souvenir pistols or hunting guns, but I should have told you about Earl’s guns anyway.”

Neil pulled her in closer and pressed her head against his chest. This was the first time she had ever apologized to him. She could have been killed tonight. And that would have destroyed him. He couldn’t take another loss in his life.

When she raised her head and looked at him, he bent and placed his lips on hers. His phone emitted its text ring. He took it out of his pocket. It was Bernie from the living room:

Need to speak.

Neil wiped Cornwall’s lip gloss off his mouth before leaving the room. She followed him.

Bernie gestured him into a corner, away from Cornwall. “Dispatch got a call from one of the Dogtown Davidsons. He was driving on a side road bordering Ghost Swamp. Saw something on the shoulder. Thought it might be roadkill, but it wasn’t.”

As was often the case, Neil wanted to throttle Bernie. “What was it?”

“Body …” He paused. “Of a man.”

If Bernie asked “Guess whose body it is?” Neil wouldn’t be able to control himself.

Bernie skipped that step. “It’s Kelly Quantz. Shot through the head.”

CHAPTER

thirty-five

Kelly Quantz’s body lay crumpled on the muddy shoulder of Sideroad 15. The cold rain fell into his wide-open eyes and had washed clean the small hole in his forehead. Poor, stupid bastard.

The passenger-side tires of an old Dodge truck settled into the mud forty metres in front of the body. Someone was running the plates, but Neil recalled seeing the truck in the manse driveway when he interviewed Quantz. Dwayne Rundell and Margo Philmore searched the steep bank leading down to the edge of an adjacent swamp. All he could see were their heads and hear an occasional obscenity when one of them got a soaker from the icy, stagnant water.

He had already sent two officers to St. Paul’s manse to secure the premises and conduct a search. Something in the house might suggest a reason for Quantz’s presence on this county back road.

He sniffed. “God, that reeks. What is that?” He’d come across a week-old corpse once in a derelict rooming house, and this was similar. But Quantz hadn’t been lying by the side of the road for more than a few hours, or one of the Davidsons would have spotted him before now. According to Lester Davidson, who had found the body, Dogtown residents used Sideroad 15 regularly to access the highway.