I flipped opened the cover. A five-by-seven glossy of the bathroom-vanity baby lay exposed. The print caught light from the window as I rotated it to face Snook.
“For the past three years, your sister lived near Montreal in a town called Saint-Hyacinthe. Six days ago she went to a hospital emergency room. Based on her symptoms, the attending physician thought she might have given birth. Since Annaliese denied having a baby or being pregnant, he reported his suspicion to the police. The next morning this newborn was found under the sink in Annaliese’s bathroom.”
Snook’s eyes stayed on her tea.
“Look at it, Nellie.”
Snook set her spoon on the table and did as I asked. She took in the sightless eyes, the maggot-filled mouth, the tiny bloated belly. Her shoulders slumped, but she made no comment.
I placed a second five-by-seven on top of the first. “This baby was found in a window seat.”
A third. “This one was in an attic.”
A fourth. “This one was hidden behind a wall in Annaliese’s apartment in Edmonton.”
I allowed Snook time to absorb the horrific reality I was dispensing. Finally, she looked at me, her face impassive.
“She doesn’t know any better.” Flat. “Didn’t.”
“I understand that now.” Gently.
Her eyes settled on a spot halfway to her spoon. Halfway to another place or time, I suspected.
Behind Snook, Murray stretched and mewed softly.
“Do you have any idea who the father or fathers might be?”
“We tried to look out for her. My brother and me. Alice was slow.” She gave a soft, mirthless snort. “Annaliese. She liked trying on new names. The doctors had a name for what was wrong with her. I couldn’t pronounce it. But she was legally adult. And she hated being told what to do.”
“Her death is not your fault,” I said.
“Never is.”
I thought it an odd comment but said nothing.
“Do the police have any leads?”
“They’re questioning one suspect, looking for another. Do you know anything that might help?”
Snook wagged her head slowly.
“Why did Annaliese leave Yellowknife?”
“She was seventeen. There was nothing for her here.”
“Was Annaliese into drugs?”
The dark eyes jumped up to mine, burning with resentment. “That’s gotta be it, right? The kid was Indian, so naturally, she was a drunk or a junkie. It’s what they said about our brother. It’s what they’ll say about me. Things never change.”
“Are you referring to Daryl Beck?”
“You are thorough. I’ll give you that.”
“You’re saying Beck wasn’t a user?”
“There was a time Daryl hit the booze and drugs pretty hard. He got off to a rough start. His mother left when he was twelve. Our father didn’t give a rat’s ass.”
“Farley McLeod.”
“Only thing Farley gave his kids was a quick shot of sperm and a worthless piece of dirt in the middle of nowhere. His way of dealing with a guilty conscience, I guess.”
“You’re saying your brother had quit drinking and doing drugs?”
“Daryl was dry the last nine months of his life. He was working on his GED.” Again the mirthless snort. “Wanted to make something of himself.”
This didn’t track. “Horace Tyne said Daryl was a doper.”
Snook’s brow puckered deeper, but she said nothing.
“I spoke to Tyne briefly after you mentioned his name,” I added.
She shook her head at the irony. “So I’m the one set you on Annaliese’s trail.”
“Actually, I’ve been on Annaliese’s trail since before I met you. You were simply a lead. Tyne said Annaliese lived in his house after Farley died.”
“I wasn’t in Yellowknife then.”
“Tyne’s quite a bit older than your sister.”
“He is.”
“You have any thoughts on that?”
“Besides my brother and me, Horace Tyne’s the only person in this town gives a hoot about other creatures. He’s a fine man and a hard worker. When he can find work.”
“Did Annaliese like him?”
“No. But she could be like that.”
“Like what?”
Snook hitched one shoulder. “Stubborn. The doctors said her thinking never made it past the fourth grade.”
The cat sat up, shot a leg, and began grooming its belly. Which had very little fur.
“Do you know why Annaliese came back to Yellowknife?”
“I think something scared her.”
“What?”
“I don’t know. She was so tired, mostly she slept. I didn’t press, figured we’d have plenty of time to talk.” Snook lifted her mug. Blew on it, though the tea was now cold. “Pressing didn’t work with my sister.”
“Do you know a woman named Susan Forex? Or did Annaliese ever mention her?”
“No.”
“Phoenix Miller?”
“No.”
“We believe Annaliese went from Edmonton to Montreal with a man named Smith. Signed a lease for an apartment with him.”
“Know about two dozen of those.”
Good point.
“What about Ralph Trees? Goes by Rocky.”
“No.”
“Ronnie Scarborough?”
“Why are you asking about these people?”
“They’re known associates of your sister.” I said the next as gently as possible. “Ronnie Scarborough was her pimp.”
Snook set her mug on the table. Held it tight.
“Scarborough is a prime suspect in Annaliese’s murder,” I added.
“You said you’re not a cop. But you talk like one.”
“I’m a forensic anthropologist.”
“What’s that mean?”
“I examine remains that are … damaged.”
A new pucker suggested she didn’t quite get it.
“I help coroners and medical examiners identify the deceased who are no longer recognizable. And I help figure out what happened to them.”
She appeared to give that some thought. “The coroner gonna do an autopsy on my sister?”
I leaned in and placed a hand on hers. “Whoever shot Annaliese took her body away.”
Her jaw went slack.
“We’ll find your sister, Nellie. And the bastards who killed her.”
Murray switched legs. His collar bell tinkled softly.
“What happened to Tank?” Snook asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You said you was there.”
“He ran into the woods.”
Snook’s chin dropped to her chest.
I stared at the top of her head, feeling like a voyeur, wondering if I could be so stoic in the face of such grief.
My gaze drifted to Murray, then to the mismatched fish swimming in the bowl at his side. One was off-white, the other gold. Sunlight sparked the sand and rocks lining the bottom of their world.
A long, silent moment passed.
Then Snook said something that kicked my view of Annaliese’s murder on its ass.
“RONNIE DIDN’T KILL ALICE. ANNALIESE.”
“How can you know that?”
“When I said my brother watched out for her, I didn’t mean Daryl.”
“I don’t follow.”
“I was talking about Ronnie.”
“Wait. What? Scar is your brother?”
“Don’t call him that. But yes. I was three when John Scarborough married my mother, five when he adopted me. Ronnie was ten.”
Jesus. Was everyone related to everyone in this town?
“Scar is a dealer and a pimp,” I said.
“I don’t ask about his business.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ronnie tried to keep my sister clear of all that. Gave her money and a place to live.”
“But witnesses say Annaliese worked the streets.” I gestured at
the folder. “And she did become pregnant.”
“My sister was impressionable. And she wanted … things.”
“Meaning?”
“She saw Ronnie’s life and thought it was glamorous. Every time he let down his guard, off she went.”
“To turn tricks.”
“She was trusting and sweet and craved attention.”
“From what I understand, your brother practically rules the underbelly in Edmonton. Why not put it out that Annaliese is off-limits?”
“You think Ronnie can control every lowlife with a dollar and a dick? Excuse my French.”
“Where is Scar now?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“He was at the Gold Range yesterday. That’s why you went there.”
She nodded. “But I’m certain Ronnie would never hurt Annaliese.”
“Why is your brother in Yellowknife?”
“I called to tell him Annaliese was at my house. He was furious, said she wasn’t safe here.”
“Why not?”
“I think it had something to do with his business. But like I said—”
“I know. You don’t ask.”
* * *
Back in the Camry, I sat staring at nothing, my emotions a jumble of guilt, confusion, annoyance, and frustration.
Snook’s father had abandoned her, then perished in a plane crash. Her brother had died in a fire, her sister in a shooting. All in a short five years. Had showing her pictures of her dead nieces and nephews been too cruel?
Was Snook being honest about Scar? Daryl Beck? Her version was at odds with that of Horace Tyne. Tyne said Beck was a junkie. Was he mistaken? Or was Snook bending the truth, trying to paint both brothers in the best light possible?
I believed Snook knew nothing of Ruben’s pregnancies. Her shock at seeing the pictures had been real. As had her pain at hearing of Ruben’s murder. I doubted she’d protect her sister’s killer.
Even if the gunman was her brother?
Whatever. For me, the hunt was over. I’d come to Yellowknife at the request of the RCMP. At Ollie’s insistence. Ruben had been our quarry; now she was dead. At best, I would return to testify one day at the trial of her killer.
Would that ever happen? Would Ruben’s murder be given the attention it deserved? Did the cops even believe she was dead? Did they think she’d eventually reappear? If not, that she was just another hooker who’d decided to move on?
I met my own eyes in the rearview mirror. They looked tormented. I’d been obsessed with finding a woman who slaughtered babies. Now I knew that woman was a victim herself. A child victim. Had my obsession refocused on finding her killer?
If Snook was right about Scarborough, then who shot Ruben? Unka? One of his henchmen? Would Ruben’s body turn up mutilated in some horrible way? What motive would Unka have? To get at Scar? Did Unka know Ruben was related to Scar?
Was Scar bent on a massacre that would accomplish two things—avenge Ruben’s death and wrest control of the local drug trade from Unka?
Every loop circled to the same mortifying point. My past had followed me to Yellowknife. The cops thought I’d been drunk and imagined a bogeyman scene in the woods. I was closed out of the investigation.
Had Ollie sabotaged my reputation? Surely not Ryan.
I remembered Ollie’s cocky smirk as he pressed me to his chest in the Edmonton Burger Express. His frown as I slammed my hotel room door in his face.
I also recalled Ollie’s voice as he talked of his work with Project KARE. His compassion for the women being slaughtered in Alberta.
Ruben had been on the Project KARE list.
No matter how much he resented me, Ollie would care about a child-woman gunned down in cold blood.
I threw the car into gear. The tires spit gravel as I roared up Ragged Ass.
And practically T-boned an RCMP unit.
I braked so fast my newly scabbed chin hit the wheel.
Ollie flew out of the driver’s side of the cruiser. A figure I assumed to be Ryan stayed in the passenger seat.
Static spit from the unit’s radio as Ollie pounded my way.
I got out of my car.
“I told you to stay the fuck in your room.” A vein pumped in Ollie’s forehead. His cheeks flamed red.
“That shade of angry goes well with your hair.”
“We’ve been looking for your ass all over town.”
“You found it.”
“You never think rules apply to you, do you, Tempe?”
“I don’t cheat at Scrabble.”
Ollie hip-planted both hands. “What is it with you people? You got to always be riding some kind of high? That what keeps you off the bottle? Taking risks?”
When irritated, I fire back clever retorts. When angry, truly white-hot furious, I go glacially calm. “You had no right to discuss my past.” Cold.
“Is it?”
“Is it what?”
“Past?”
“Ask Ryan what happened.”
“He told me about the Scotch.”
“So we’re clear on that.”
“We’re not clear on why you’re out here when I ordered you to stay in your room.”
“Ordered me?” Through gritted molars.
“Last I checked, you don’t carry a badge.”
I took a breath. Listened to it move in and out of my nose. “I just informed Nellie Snook that her sister is dead.”
“You had no authority to do that.”
He had me on that.
“I saw it, Ollie. Saw her brains fly out and her body go down.”
His glare held.
“You believe me, right?”
He studied my face for so long I thought he wasn’t going to answer. Then, “I believe you.”
“You will investigate, right? Ruben was on the KARE list.”
“Erroneously.”
“Regardless, she’s now one of your stats.”
Ollie spread his feet and hooked his thumbs in his belt.
“The locals are totally focused on Castain,” I said. “I don’t want Ruben to fall through the cracks.”
“It’s all related.”
“I’m not so sure.”
Ollie gave me a what-else-could-it-be blink.
“Snook thought Ruben was running away from something in Edmonton,” I said.
“What?”
“She didn’t know.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Snook confirmed that Ruben was mentally challenged,” I said.
“How come no one mentioned her being retarded?”
“People just thought she was slow.”
“And her being knocked up at least four times: no one noticed that?”
“Ruben was obese and wore baggy clothes. It happens all the time.”
“And she was clueless when kids just popped into her toilet?”
“Same answer.”
“Why’d she go to the ER?”
“I’m guessing the blood scared her.”
“She lied to the doctor.”
“He probably scared her.” Flashbulb image. “In the woods, Ruben said the babies died because she put something bad inside them.”
“You found tissue shoved down one kid’s throat.”
“Maybe that was it.”
“Why would she do that?”
“If she did it.”
More static burst from the unit’s radio.
“Snook swears Scar didn’t kill Ruben.”
“The scumbag’s got no problem setting the kid up as one of his pavement princesses, but he draws the line at shooting her ass?”
“Scar is Snook’s adoptive brother.”
Ollie’s brows shot up in surprise. “Snook is Ruben’s half sister. What the fuck does that make Scar to Ruben?”
“I don’t know. But Snook swears Scar was trying to keep her out of the life.”
Ryan’s door opened.
“So Scar learns Ruben’s in Yellowknife and comes north to protect
her,” Ollie said.
“That’s Snook’s story.”
Ryan climbed out and strode toward us.
“So it’s not a wasted trip, Scar kills Castain to facilitate his move into slinging dope up here. In revenge, Unka caps Ruben.”
It was a scenario I’d considered.
“What else did Snook say?” Ollie asked.
I told him about Daryl Beck.
“What the hell’s that got to do with anything?”
“Probably nothing. But I don’t like inconsistencies. Would there be a police report on Beck’s death?”
“House fire with a fatality? Maybe. More likely, the case rolled straight to the coroner.”
Ryan joined us, his face as tense as I’d ever seen it. “They’ve got Scarborough.”
“Where?” Ollie asked.
“Stanton Territorial Health Authority. DOA with two slugs in his brain.”
OLLIE WENT REALLY FAST, USING HIS SIREN. RYAN AND I DROVE at a more sedate speed in the Camry.
We agreed there was little point in going to Stanton. But it wasn’t far. And we had nothing else to do.
On the way, I told Ryan about Katy.
“That’s terrific,” he said.
“She could be deployed to a war zone,” I said.
“She’ll be fine,” he said.
I updated him on everything I’d learned from Snook. Then we rode in silence. I was getting used to it.
We were right about the uselessness of our going to the hospital.
Entering the ER, we passed Rainwater on his way out. He told us that Scar’s body was already en route to Edmonton and that Ollie had left for the scene. As he filled us in on details, I kept thinking he might as well be describing the Castain hit.
Scar was nailed while leaving the apartment of a woman named Dorothea Slider. She saw zip. The neighbors saw zip. The only difference was the level of boldness. Scar’s drive-by took place in broad daylight.
Pointedly ignoring me, Rainwater asked Ryan if he wanted to help run down a tip on Unka. Ryan gave me the courtesy of a raised-eyebrow query.
I held out my hand.
Ryan dropped the keys onto my palm. Behind him, across a tiled lobby, I noticed Maureen King from the Coroners Service talking on a cell phone. She was smaller than my perception of her standing over Castain, maybe five-two, 110 pounds.
She had her back to us. She wore black jeans, a white turtleneck, and the same windbreaker as the night before.