Holly Martin Mysteries 3-Book Bundle. Lou Allin
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what had happened to her mother? Would old bones in 2108 explain why she had left her home and family? Who would care enough by then to maintain the records? All the more reason for pursuing every thread. Yet where could she start? Should she take another look at the official reports? How much trouble would that be with a clear conflict of interest?
Chipper took a chair across from her desk. “What happened at the autopsy? Was it tough to watch?”
“You get used to it, I suppose, but I wouldn’t want to.” She explained the signal points of Vic’s preliminary analysis. Slowly he took in the information, whistling softly. “Boone thinks the death will be ruled inconclusive? That’s the term, right?”
“Unless something else turns up. The urine tox scans aren’t in.” Chipper folded his hands, lacing long, supple fingers. “You’re talking about pot, I guess, or coke. Hard to imagine them shooting dope on a Catholic school trip, twenty feet from a campfire.”
She shifted, an uneasy feeling inching down her spine. First-time jitters in an administrative job? Would a man have the same misgivings? “I wonder if I should call someone in on this. Just to be sure. All they can do is say no, right?”
His dark eyes sparkled, and his voice assumed a confident tone. “I didn’t like the ex-boyfriend. And I thought that Gable was creepy. But that’s not enough, is it?”
She leaned forward, read the innocence and insouciance on his fresh face. “Creepy? Hardly a logical approach.”
Chipper, blinking at the slight reprimand, took a sip of the tea in his mug, releasing a faint jasmine scent. “Want me to call West Shore? Don’t get your hopes up. They’ve been bitching about being several officers short. A couple more joined the Victoria force in order to get permanent postings. Where’s the loyalty?”
Holly took a deep breath and watched Chipper watch her. It was protocol. If there were the slightest suspicions of foul play, it was her duty as the head of a small post to let superiors decide if more resources should be requisitioned for a blitz. The traditional first forty-eight, a cliché on its own. But how slight was slight? Wasn’t it wiser to err on the side of caution? “I’ll do it.”
Sooke was the nearest detachment, but it had no inspectors among its fourteen constables, corporals and staff sergeant. If West Shore wanted to read her as a panicky rookie and said no, she’d bury this and return to traffic control and lost dogs. Or was nemesis looking for a bride?
Something pattered on the window, and she looked up. Rain at last, big fat healthy drops. After the long summer drought, September would see the precipitation double in each following month, then fall as precipitously in the new year. What was that verse?
If it’s sunny in Victoria, it’s cloudy in Vancouver.
If it’s cloudy in Victoria, it’s raining in Vancouver.
If it’s raining in Victoria, it’s pouring in Vancouver.
If it’s pouring in Victoria, god help Vancouver.
Four
Where the hell’s Martin?” A short man with an Italian-tailored suit, off-white shirt and striped club tie banged into the detachment, clipboard under his arm and the door squeaking behind him. His pants looked as if they had been pressed en route from the car. Iron grey hair was barbered and slicked. A dark blue raincoat hung over his arm, Burberry by the classic brown-plaid lining. He took a slow assessment of the room, barely suppressing a contemptuous smile but allowing his nostrils to flare at the rustic decor. A practiced expression? Affixing a sheet to the bulletin board, Holly suppressed an instinct to salute, tug a forelock, even kowtow.
Her outstretched hand met a cursory shake, the fingers stiff and unwelcoming. “Welcome, Inspector...sir.”
His cold battleship-grey eyes flicked up and down. “Whitehouse is the name. I’ve been sent out here by an officious boss on a fool’s mission, and I intend to wrap it up as fast as I can. So let’s be clear.” He paused ominously. “What exactly do you have? What have you done? And don’t omit the slightest detail. Some of it may have to be undone. More to the damned point, why the hell did you wait how many days before calling in?”
The building wasn’t shaking, but she felt like an earthquake had struck. Fortunately, Chipper was off supervising down the road, where an accident with a delivery truck and a hikers’ shuttle bus had closed one lane in the Sombrio Beach area. Having the top brass criticize either her actions or inactions undermined what little authority she was nurturing. “Two days, sir. But that’s because—”
“Never mind the excuses. Get to the point, Corporal. And I’m not surprised that this is your first assignment.”
He seemed oblivious to the fact that civilians were in earshot, two older women whose purses had been stolen from their convertible while they had stopped for a picnic lunch and detoured behind bushes for a pee. Holly passed a hand over her forehead, conscious of Ann’s throat-clearing. The older woman sat awkwardly in her duct-taped chair and considered Whitehouse from the corner of her hooded eyes. Her lips were tight and her breathing deep, as if she were trying to relax stubborn back muscles.
“I think we’d better go to my...office and get comfortable. Would you care for coffee?”
He grunted a negative, and they proceeded. She shut the door as two bicycle volunteers came in to talk to Ann. They reported suspicious vehicles parked in out-of-the-way places, and those abandoned or without license plates. Since nearly half of the local cars and trucks sported dented fenders or non-disabling damage too costly to repair, standards were relative. If a muffler was dragging, a fender was loose, or a windshield was cracked, that was another matter.
Holly spent half an hour reviewing the few verifiable facts of the case, her mouth so dry that she stopped twice for water. Whitehouse took the copies she’d prepared but gave no mollifying signs of approval of her cautionary move, merely retrieved a pair of half-moon reading glasses, then ran fingers through his steely hair. The back of each hand was peppered with an angry rash. Eczema? A nervous man, then. That could explain his bluster. The small weakness pleased her.
“Goddamn waste of resources. Pulling me out of Major Crimes just as a sting operation was going down. Prisoner for the day. We need to talk to these students again, not on neutral or home ground. Here. As soon as possible.” He folded his arms in an aggressive posture. “The atmosphere of a police station always loosens the tongue. Hit them fast, and hit them hard. That advantage is gone now, and don’t think they won’t know it.” He glared at her as if she were a bothersome insect.
Did he expect her to play good cop-bad cop games? “I’m not sure Angie was out there alone. There’s the condom wrapper. And I’m wondering about the sweetgrass we found?” Her voice seemed weak and insecure, especially the rising tone at the end of the sentence. Sometimes women made a question out of an assertion. She clutched the chair arm out of his sight and vowed to get back on track. “It’s used for—”
“I know all about that.” He raised a sharp, inquiring eyebrow, as good as a stab. “Very tricky. We don’t want to get accused of racial profiling. When you interviewed the students, were there any Indians? Port Renfrew’s known for that. They get into brawls with twenty people, and by the time we arrive, the streets are deserted, and we look like assholes.”
“All the Notre Dame students are Caucasian except for two exchange students from Sierra Leone. Others could have been at the beach. We have First Nations tribes in the area.” With his outmoded terminology, she could guess what he called Chipper’s ethnic background.
“Go on. You have my undivided attention.” His tone was less than sincere. “What did the park staff say?”
With some consternation, she related that Tim Jones had mentioned the possibility of boys camping illegally on Botanical Beach. Why hadn’t she followed up on that? A raucous Steller’s jay scolded as she looked out the window.
Whitehouse’s voice jerked her back from her thoughts. “What’s the matter? For god’s sake,