CHAPTER 8.
"So, er, what exactly are we looking for?"
Fraser grabbed his hat from the dashboard of the GTO as Ray pulled it into the driveway of Lucinda Weller's house. "Katy described it as a box," he replied. "She said the intruder left it somewhere in the back yard; that was all the information she was able to give."
"Poor kid," said Ray as he ran up the path.
"She was very frightened," agreed Fraser, running behind him. "The man told her not to say anything to her mother, or the police, which is why she refused to speak."
"But Dippy isn't her Mum, or a cop," Ray said. "So I guess Katy figured it was OK to talk to her, right?"
"Apparently so," nodded Fraser. He took the key Lucinda had given him and opened the front door. "Serendipity was very good with the child. I admit I had my doubts that she was up to the task, but she did well."
Ray drew his gun and stopped Fraser going any further with a wave of his hand. "I can see Dippy being good with kids," he said, lowering his voice. "She's a big kid herself."
"Indeed," nodded Fraser. "There's no one here," he added.
"Sure?" asked Ray.
"Quite sure, Ray."
Ray re-holstered his weapon and they walked into the house. Lucinda had left in a hurry and dirty breakfast dishes still lay in the kitchen sink. Katy had been colouring some pictures while her mother showered and the pens and pencils were scattered all over the floor. The door leading out to the back yard was wide open and the wind had blown her pile of half completed pictures across the room.
Fraser and Ray made their way out of the open door. Ray glanced at the damage to the doorframe that had been caused by the door being forced open.
"Katy saw the intruder through the window and screamed," Fraser explained. "It was then that he made his way forcibly into the house."
"I guess he wanted to shut her up," suggested Ray.
"She said it wasn't her uncle, though. Right?" clarified Ray as they started to search amongst the plants and Fraser nodded. "Coulda been anyone. Even the toughest bastards develop a conscience about hurting innocent kids."
They pondered the few details they had about their suspects as they searched for the box Katy had mentioned. All three had motive to want to kill Mounties, but none were obvious candidates for murderers based on what they already knew.
"Based on the series of events Katy described it's likely that the perpetrator had little time to securely hide the receptacle in question," said Fraser. He let out a sigh of frustration under his breath as their search continued to yield no results.
"The what?" queried Ray. "Thought you said it was a box, buddy."
"Katy used the word 'box'," agreed Fraser, "however in this instance we can assume that this description could refer to any carton, crate, package, case, chest, or casket."
"Casket? Like a coffin?"
"No, Ray. Like a box."
Ray rolled his eyes.
"What I mean," continued Fraser, "is that a young child would not necessarily have the vocabulary to accurately describe what she saw. We typically think of a box as being a cardboard container with flat, square, or rectangular base and sides. To a child a box could be any number of things."
Ray shrugged. The back yard was well stocked with trees and shrubs offering plenty of hiding places for someone to dispose of something in a hurry.
"Why didn't we bring Dief?" asked Ray as he rummaged amongst some wet leaves.
"Serendipity requested his presence at the Consulate," explained Fraser. "She is concerned that whoever was here earlier may have followed Lucinda. I understand her concerns, although I don't share them. I have secured the building as best I can and Diefenbaker will take good care of…er, Ray, I think I've found something."
Ray came running over to where Fraser was holding back the prickly, green leaves of a holly bush. Lying on the floor surrounded by red berries was a small, metal box with a security lock. Ray looked at Fraser and nodded and Fraser picked up the box with a gloved hand.
"Looks like a gun case to me," noted Ray.
"Indeed," agreed Fraser.
The lock had a three number combination. Fraser began spinning the wheels with his thumbs at high speed and Ray watched in amazement as the lock clicked open.
"How did you figure that out so fast?" He asked Fraser, scratching his head. "There must be, er, a million permeations."
"Permutations, Ray," Fraser corrected him. "And actually the number for this type of lock is only ten to the power of three."
Ray frowned. Maths had never been his strong point.
"A thousand, Ray."
"I knew that," replied Ray. "So, er, are ya gonna open it?"
"Oh yes, of course." Fraser lifted the metal lid to reveal a hand gun, just as they'd suspected.
"Military issue," said Ray. "This is Jonathan Bell's gun, Fraser."
"You're jumping to a huge conclusion here, Ray," Fraser pointed out.
"C'mon Fraser!" exclaimed Ray. "This is the gun that Bell shot Turnbull with."
Fraser frowned and rubbed at his eyebrow with the back of his gloved thumb. "Katy was quite sure the intruder was not her uncle," he reminded Ray.
"So the other guy, McGarratt, borrowed it to shoot the Mountie in Cincinnati," said Ray.
"You know, Ray, it's highly unusual for a murder weapon not to be disposed of at the earliest opportunity following its use in a homicide," Fraser pointed out.
"Maybe it's Bell's favourite gun and he wanted it back?" suggested Ray.
"Or perhaps Bell is innocent and McGarratt wanted to implicate him in the crimes?" Fraser responded.
Ray shrugged. "Look, buddy, all I know is we have a murder weapon in the back yard of Bell's sister's place and…"
"Possible attempted murder weapon," Fraser interrupted him.
"Possible attempted murder weapon," agreed Ray with a sneer. "Ballistics report will confirm it."
"It's likely," nodded Fraser. "However we have a witness who confirms that another man discarded it here."
"McGarratt?"
"Well, Katy described a large male…"
"Fraser, she's six," Ray noted. "All guys are large when you're six."
Fraser nodded. "That's true," he agreed. "In that case, despite quite possibly being in possession of the weapon used in one if not both shootings, we still have very little to go on."
xXxXxXx
Inspector Meg Thatcher landed back at O'Hare with Bernard Wilson late that afternoon. They had been accompanied by an officer from the Cincinnati Police Department who ensured the prisoner and the Inspector were handed safely over to Officer Pirelli from the Chicago PD, before leaving on the next flight back to Ohio.
Inspector Thatcher got into the back of the Police car and glared at her prisoner. The flight may have only been an hour long, but to the Inspector it had felt like days. Wilson was not happy about his situation at all. He had spent the entire flight protesting his innocence.
He was also a sexist pig.
"Wilson, get your hand off my leg!" exclaimed Meg. She wanted to punch him in the face. Despite his anger at being arrested he'd found every opportunity to touch, or leer at the Inspector, or make lewd and inappropriate comments. Officer Page from Cincinnati had fallen asleep as soon as the plane had started taxiing down the runway and spent the entire flight snoring. Meg hadn't wanted Wilson to think she couldn't deal with his lecherous ways on her own so she had chosen not to wake the sleeping policeman.
And she could deal with him on her own; she was a police officer even if her fieldwork skills were a little rusty. Meg had got a real buzz today out of flying to another state on the trail of a criminal. She had been tied to an endless round of meetings and diplomatic events for far too long now, she realised. Something had to change and the sooner the better.
For now though her only concern was getting Wilson to the Twenty Seventh precinct.
"Sorry, sweetcheeks," replied Wilson, "but it's kinda hard when we're handcuffed together. Wherever your hand goes, mine goes too." He winked at her. "Or the other way around…and you know a guy can get real itchy sometimes…" His hand gravitated slowly towards his crotch.
Meg pulled it away with a sharp tug. The metal of the handcuffs burned at her wrist with the sudden friction, but it was worth the pain. The thought of putting her hand anywhere near that particular part of Bernard Wilson's anatomy made her want to vomit. It was bad enough that his sweaty fingers had been brushing against hers for the entire flight.
Wilson sighed. "So, how about you unlock these and we can talk some more about how this is all a big misunderstanding?" He winked at her again.
"Mr Wilson," snarled Meg. "Must I remind you again that you are a prisoner under arrest in connection with two attempted homicides?"
"So you keep telling me," replied Wilson. "And I keep telling you that I don't know what you're talking about. I was in Cincinnati on vacation, it's a beautiful city. I get lonely sometimes; a change of scenery does me good." He smiled at her again, the same sickly smile she'd had to put up with on the flight and then lowered his gaze to her chest. "Scenery looks pretty good from here," he added with another wink.
Meg glanced in the rear view mirror and noticed Officer Pirelli trying not to laugh. She sighed sadly. He was a few years away from retirement, but that was no excuse for his attitude. It was hard being a woman in the RCMP. It shouldn't be, but it was. Of course things had changed for the better since her first days at Depot, but there were still a few dinosaurs amongst the ranks – like Pirelli – who seemed to think it was acceptable to treat women differently, even if the woman in question was a senior officer. She had fought her way to the position she was in now and it hadn't been easy. If Pirelli had been one of her officers she would have put him on sentry duty for the rest of his career.
"Mr Wilson, you're under caution," Meg reminded him. "So I suggest you shut the hell up."
Her bluntness stunned Wilson, but eventually he realised that she had a point. He stared out of the car window as they sped through the streets of Chicago and finally began to realise what a serious situation he was in.
xXxXxXx
"Told ya," Ray grinned at Fraser and snatched the ballistics report from Francesca's outstretched hand. "It's a match. Definitely the gun that fired the slugs they pulled outta Turnbull and Constable Conti."
Francesca sidled up to Fraser. "I'm so glad you didn't get shot," she said, holding his forearm tenderly. "I don't know what I'd do if anything ever happened to you."
Fraser stiffened and forced himself not to draw his arm away sharply. "Th…thank you kindly, Francesca," he said.
Francesca looked up into his eyes and smiled, still holding tightly to his arm.
Oh dear…
"I'll tell Turnbull that you asked after him," said Ray, dryly.
Francesca ignored him.
"Um, er, um…did I hear mention of, um, fingerprints?" stumbled Fraser.
Francesca sighed and reluctantly released her prize. "Yes," she said, walking back to her desk to pick up another report. "They found two partial prints. One matches Bell's from his military files, the other is McGarratt's."
"Told ya," snapped Ray with a grin.
"Were McGarratt's fingerprints held on police files?" asked Fraser.
"He was arrested with his brother for that murder back in Canada," explained Francesca. "But he was released without charge."
"While his brother died in custody awaiting trial for the crime," noted Fraser.
Ray and Fraser spent a moment in silent thought. They had a lot of pieces of the puzzle, but it wasn't clear where they all fitted.
"When's the Ice Queen due back with our other suspect?" asked Ray eventually.
Francesca glanced at the clock on the wall, but before she had chance to answer his question the doors to the Squad Room swung open and the questions was suddenly moot.
"Um, right now," noted Francesca.
Officer Pirelli had a tight grip on Wilson's arm and Inspector Thatcher was almost dragging him along by the handcuffs that still bound their wrists together.
Ray and Fraser fell in step behind the party as they headed towards to interview rooms and Francesca went to Lieutenant Welsh's office to let him know that their prisoner had arrived.
"We can take him from here," Fraser nodded to Pirelli and the older cop left the Squad Room, his duty over.
"Sit down," snarled Thatcher and pushed Wilson onto one of the hard wooden chairs in Interview Room Two.
Fraser was startled by her aggression. He wanted to ask if she was alright, but thought it best not to for now.
Thatcher quickly unlocked the handcuffs, finally releasing their bond. She let out a huge sigh of relief and almost staggered backwards to the far corner of the room, rubbing her wrist as she did so.
"I have some powdered horn if…" began Fraser, gingerly.
"I'm fine," snapped Meg.
"Understood."
Just then Welsh breezed into the room carrying a file. He slapped the file down onto the small white table in front of Wilson. "I've put my butt on the line to get you here," he said gruffly to the prisoner. "And that makes me tetchy. So I suggest you co-operate."
Wilson just stared silently at the Lieutenant.
"Vecchio, grill the snot out of this guy," said Welsh and turned to leave the room. "Inspector, Constable, with me." Years of experience had taught him that the best way to get a suspect to talk was one to one. You had to build a relationship if you were going to get answers. Either you got the guy to trust you, or you got him so scared that he'd admit to anything to save his own skin, but it was often best done alone.
"May I suggest, sir, that as this is a joint operation between the RCMP and your good selves I should remain here and participate in the questioning?" asked Fraser, hopefully.
Welsh opened his mouth to speak, but the Inspector got there first.
"No, I'll stay," she said.
Fraser and Welsh glanced at each other. The Inspector seemed to be unusually agitated and it concerned them both.
Welsh had no authority over Meg so reluctantly he shrugged and left to take up a position in the other room to observe the interrogation.
Fraser, of course, had no authority over her either. "With respect, sir," he began, but Meg cut him off with a glare. "May I have a word with you first?" asked Fraser, resigned to the fact the he would not be able to change her mind. "There has been a development you should be made aware of."
Meg nodded and followed Fraser out into the corridor, while Ray started silently pacing up and down, trying to unsettle Wilson.
Fraser quickly explained about the intruder at Lucinda Weller's house that morning and about the gun they'd found there. While he was speaking, Fraser became increasingly concerned about Meg. "Sir, if I may…" he began, nervously. "Are you…that is, is everything…?"
"Yes, Fraser, I am," replied Meg, curtly. "And everything is."
It wasn't really a proper reply, but then he hadn't asked a proper question.
"Good," said Fraser. "That's…that's good." He remained entirely unconvinced.
"It's been a long day," Meg said, finally. "And Wilson isn't exactly someone I'd choose to spend time with."
"I see," he said cautiously. "In that case I suggest we proceed."
Meg nodded, but didn't move. She looked into his eyes and tried not to lose herself in them. It wasn't easy. Part of her wanted to fall into his arms and tell him all about Wilson and how repulsive he was, but she didn't want to appear weak in front of Fraser…did she?
He won't see it as a weakness… He'll understand… I just want to be held for a while…
"Sir?"
His voice snapped her out of his trance.
"Thank you, Constable," she said. "Dismissed," she added, although what she was dismissing him from was unclear. Her mind, probably, she realised. Get out of my thoughts, Ben…
Fraser hesitated for a moment before turning heel and heading to the other room to join Welsh.
"Is the Inspector fully briefed now, Constable?" asked the Lieutenant as Fraser shut the door behind him.
Fraser stared through the two way mirror for a moment, watching Meg's every move. Something had unsettled her, that much was obvious – to him at least – but he felt sure that it was nothing to do with the case. The Inspector, being the consummate professional, would have mentioned it if it was.
Fraser turned back to answer Welsh. "Yes," he replied, simply.
Welsh and Fraser watched the events in the other room in silence for a few minutes.
"How often do you and your buddies get together?" Ray asked Wilson.
"We're not a Girl Scout troupe," retorted Wilson. Then he glanced at Meg. "Bet you were a Girl Scout, right?"
"Answer the detective's question," snapped Meg.
"A few of us try to meet once a month," replied Wilson, "but we're from all over Canada, it's not easy to arrange."
"When was the last time you saw Bell and McGarratt?" asked Ray.
"Bell's a nut job," replied Wilson, coldly. "And McGarratt's a thug. All I want to do is to show people that Mounties aren't all perfect." He glanced at Meg with a look of genuine apology.
Meg didn't know how to respond.
"All because your wife ran off with one?" pushed Ray. "Can't say I blame her," he added with a sneer.
Wilson reacted to the jibe by leaping out of his chair, but Ray didn't let him get far and pushed him back down with a firm hand on his shoulder.
Fraser watched the scene with concern. It hadn't escaped his notice that the instant Wilson got to his feet, Meg backed away slightly. Ray had been too concerned with keeping the man under control to notice her reaction.
Fraser clasped his hands behind his back tightly. He turned to Welsh. "Sir," he began. "May I…may I ask your advice?"
"Yes, Constable," replied Welsh.
Fraser cleared his throat. "When…when a woman…" but that was as far as he got before Welsh stopped him.
"Woah there, Fraser," he said, waving his hand in the air. "I can give you advice about Police work, about which team to root for in the Superbowl, or about buying a used car, but I cannot under any circumstances give you advice about women."
"I see," replied Fraser, looking down at his boots. "I'm sorry, sir."
Welsh regarded him for a moment. He sighed. "Thatcher?" he enquired.
Fraser's head snapped up and he stared wide eyed at Welsh. "Er, um, er…" he stammered as his face slowly turned a deep shade of red.
"Look, Fraser," continued Welsh. "Don't waste your time trying to understand women. I've been married for over thirty years and I still do not understand women."
"Understood, sir," replied Fraser, quietly.
They turned their attentions back to the events in the other room. Ray was thumping the table with his fist in frustration. Wilson was sticking to his lies. He claimed he had no knowledge of any plot to assassinate RCMP officers, nor did he know the whereabouts of Jonathan Bell or Andrew McGarratt.
"I know my rights, Detective," said Wilson in a calm voice. "You have nothing on me. You cannot hold me here without charging me with something and the last time I checked it wasn't a crime to vacation in Cincinnati."
"Do you realise the consequences of lying to the Police?" asked Meg. She wanted to ring this man's neck, but that would mean touching him and she really didn't want to do that.
Wilson showed the first signs of vulnerability since he'd arrived at the station. Fraser stiffened as the man's body language changed, his confident-to-the-point-of-arrogance demeanour gone for a brief moment.
Ray glanced up at the mirror; he'd seen it too. He realised this was their way in to the man's head. Maybe he hadn't thought about the consequences of his actions up until now. Ray decided he would spell out exactly what charges he would face if they could prove he had been withholding evidence.
As Ray read out the list of charges and their associated punishments, Wilson's face slowly went pale. He tried to maintain his attitude, but he wasn't fooling anyone, certainly not trained police officers.
"And that's assuming that you didn't shoot anyone," added Ray. He was convinced of that for now at least. Bernard Wilson was all talk, but he didn't have the nerve to kill, not from what Ray had seen. He appeared to have answered all of Ray's direct questions about the shootings honestly, but he was involved somehow. Ray just couldn't quite figure out how yet.
Meg took a deep breath and sat down in the other chair. "Now that we've got your attention, Mr Wilson," she began, fighting the knot in her stomach. "Would you like to reconsider any of the things you've said during this interview?"
Wilson drew a breath and moved his hand across the table. Meg quickly withdrew hers from his reach. "I don't hate all Mounties," he said adding one of his trademark winks.
"I meant specifics regarding your involvement in these shootings," Meg replied.
"I was not involved in the shootings," reiterated Wilson.
"Bullcrap," exclaimed Ray and he started pacing across the floor. Meg glared at him.
Wilson rolled his eyes. "Does he have to be here?" he asked. "I don't trust him; he's trying to set me up."
"Detective Vecchio and I simply want you to tell the truth," said Meg. Wilson leaned towards her as she spoke and she moved her head to the side to avoid the foul smell of his breath.
"I'll talk to you alone, Inspector," said Wilson.
"No deal," snapped Ray.
Wilson ignored him. "I can't relax when he's in the room," he continued. "I'm sure you could help me to relax, Inspector. If it was just you and me I might remember something. I imagine you're highly skilled in the art of interrogation. I imagine you're highly skilled in many things."
As he finished speaking, Wilson reached out his hand and gently brushed the side of Meg's face. Ray lurched quickly to stop him and Meg lifted her own hand to knock his away, but before any of them knew what was happening the door flew open and Fraser burst in. He grabbed Wilson by the back of the neck and forced his head down onto the table with a thud.
"I expect you to extend the proper courtesy to Inspector Thatcher," said Fraser through gritted teeth as he resisted the urge to apply more pressure to the man's neck. "Or Detective Vecchio will arrest you for sexual assault."
Wilson let out a muffled response. He had no idea what had hit him, but now his fat face was pressed hard against the table top and he was finding it difficult to breathe.
"Fraser…" Ray said, shooting his partner a warning look.
"Constable!" exclaimed Meg.
Fraser waited for a beat before releasing Wilson. The startled man lifted his head and gasped for air.
"Now," said Fraser, his calm manner firmly back in place. "We will leave you alone with your thoughts." He gestured towards the door. "Inspector?"
Meg got to her feet, angry at herself for feeling so shaky. They went out into the corridor and Ray locked the interview room behind them. Welsh was already standing out there with his arms folded tightly across his chest. He couldn't believe Fraser had moved so quickly from his side.
Ray stood for a moment looking first at Fraser and then at Meg. The two Mounties were locked in a stare, neither one had spoken. They didn't have to, Ray realised.
"Sir," Ray addressed Welsh. "We should, er, we should go to your office."
Welsh regarded Fraser for a moment. "That's a very good idea, Detective."
When Ray and Welsh were out of earshot, Fraser was the first to speak. "Are you alright, sir?" He gently squeezed her shoulder for a brief moment before dropping his hand back down to his side.
"Yes," replied Meg, glancing down at his hand and wishing he'd had the nerve to linger longer on her shoulder.
Fraser frowned at her obvious lie. "Is there something I should be aware of?" he asked.
"No, Fraser," replied Meg. "It's just that man, he's…he's vile."
Fraser nodded.
"And he reminds me of someone I used to know," admitted Meg. She hadn't wanted to admit it to herself, but the reason Wilson's behaviour had shaken her so much was that he reminded her of someone from her past. "Henri Cloutier," she added.
Fraser wasn't entirely surprised. He had met Cloutier once, during the incident with Lyndon Buxley and his prize chickens and Meg had made it quite clear that they had a history that she'd rather forget. One day he hoped she'd be able to open up to him about exactly what had happened with Cloutier, but for now all he could say in response was, "Understood."
Meg nodded. His understanding was all she could hope for at this moment in time. "Thank you," she said. Her lips twisted into a small smile and her heart skipped a beat as he returned the gesture.