in Hannah’s blue hair and multiple body piercings. Her thin lips pursed.
Kyle bounced into the room like a goofy, overgrown puppy, smacking into furniture and grinning from ear to ear. Apart from the childlike gaze in his pale blue eyes, Green thought he looked like any vibrant, attractive young teenager. His sun-bleached hair, deep tan, and burly chest hinted at hours hefting hay bales in the field.
“Ky, sit down,” his mother snapped.
He subsided on the sofa, his puppy eyes fixed on Hannah. The mother turned to Green with stiff formality. “How do you do, I’m Edna McMartin. My husband Jeb, and you know Kyle.” She whipped the quilt off the sofa under the cross and waved a stubby, ringless hand. “Please sit down. Jeb, perhaps you can fix our guests some tea?”
Hearing the forced enthusiasm in her tone, Green shook his head. “Thank you, Mrs. McMartin, but we don’t want to intrude. My daughter—”
Hannah silenced him with a glare that would do a veteran teacher proud, then turned solemnly to Kyle. She uncurled her hand to reveal the chain. “Kyle, this is very beautiful and I thank you very much for giving it to me—”
Edna McMartin stiffened. “Eh?”
Hannah kept her eyes on Kyle. “But when I looked at it carefully, I realized it belonged to someone else.”
The mother snatched it from Hannah’s hand, and Kyle shrank back on the sofa as if hoping he could disappear.
Edna looked appalled. “Where did you get this!”
“I think he found it,” Hannah replied.
The mother leaned across and glared at her son. “You steal it? You know how I feel about that.”
“He found it,” Hannah repeated, but Green could hear the quaver in her voice. She’s handling herself beautifully, he thought with surprise and pride, but that accusation has shaken her.
He stepped in to help. “It’s not a question of theft, rest assured. We just think the boy who lost it would probably like it back. Do any of you know who Derek is?”
Edna turned the crucifix over to read the inscription, then shook her head sharply. “Nope. Never heard of a Derek.”
“Anybody named Derek in the area?” Green persisted.
“I just said there wasn’t.”
The father had been frowning thoughtfully. “Wasn’t that the name of the oldest Pettigrew boy?”
“Oh, but he’s been gone for years. No.” The mother handed the crucifix to Green with an air of finality. “Kyle must have found it in the city.”
At the mention of Pettigrews, Green’s mind was already racing ahead, but he tried to sound gentle. “Did you find the chain in the city, Kyle? Or out here?”
“He doesn’t understand distances,” said his mother. “For him, there’s the school, the bus and home.”
“Where did you find this, Ky?” Hannah asked him quietly. He sneaked a glance at his mother, then shrugged.
“At the farm or at school?”
“Don’t know.”
Green leaned forward. “Do you think you could show me tomorrow when it’s light out?”
Kyle shrank back. “I have to go school.”
“What good is all this?” the mother said. “It’s just an ordinary crucifix. Look, the inscription’s almost worn away. Someone was probably throwing away some old family junk. Happens all the time when people clear out these old places they’ve lived in for generations. Kyle loves garbage, Mr. Green. Dollars to doughnuts, that’s where he got it.”
Once Green and Hannah were back on the main highway, and he didn’t have to feel his way through the narrow back roads, he reached across and turned down the Nine Inch Nails.
“Would you do something for me tomorrow?” he asked. Hannah cast him a wary glance.
“Kyle trusts you. Would you come out here with me after school and get Kyle to show us where he found the chain?”
“Why?”
“It’s part of an investigation.”
“And why should I help you with an investigation?” He could have said it was because an unidentified man was dead, and there was a very real possibility this chain belonged to him. But instead, he tried to think like a teenager. “Because it might be fun.”
* * *
At eight o’clock the next morning, Green parked his car in the underground parking lot of the police station and made a mad dash for the elevator, clutching a bagel in one hand and a cup of Starbucks highest octane coffee in the other. When he disembarked on the second floor, he was relieved to see Brian Sullivan still at his desk, scrolling through his emails. Sullivan was an impossibly early riser and liked to get his investigations rolling before most of the world was even awake. Green signalled towards his office as he strode by.
The Major Crimes Squad room bustled with activity as the new shift checked in and reviewed the fruits of a night on the streets. In his office, Green was greeted by a pile of phone messages and post-it notes as well as a full voice mail box. The implications were clear; a middle management inspector abandoned his desk for an entire day at his own peril.
He was flipping through his phone messages for dire emergencies when Sullivan loomed in his doorway. He was already shrugging his jacket over his massive linebacker frame, and he grinned at the sight of Green’s overflowing desk.
Green silenced him with a scowl. “How did the ID go on the Ashford Landing John Doe?”
Sullivan shook his head. “Robert Pettigrew wasn’t home last night. But the autopsy’s set for ten, so I’m sending over the new detective. Might as well get her feet wet. I’ve got Bob Gibbs trying to track down the dentist who used to work that neck of the woods. I’m just on my way out to see Robert Pettigrew again. Ident’s cleaned up the photo, so he should be able to identify it.”
Green took the crucifix out of his desk. “I’d like to see if he can identify this, too. Apparently one of the older brothers was named Derek.”
Sullivan reached to take it, but Green pulled it away. “I’d like to do it.” Seeing Sullivan’s raised eyebrow, he explained about Hannah’s involvement and the fragility of their key witness to the discovery.
Sullivan surveyed Green’s desk. “Suit yourself, Mike. But I’d say you’re good for at least two hours here, and this can’t wait.”
“Half hour tops. Then I’ll be set to go.”
True to his word, half an hour later Green logged off his computer, rounded up Sullivan, and together they set off. Robert Pettigrew lived on the tenth floor of a shabby apartment block in Alta Vista which would have been tolerable had it been on the north side overlooking the grassy shoreline of the Rideau River. Unfortunately, his minuscule apartment faced west over four lanes of Bank Street and the Billings Bridge Mall parking lot. Stale grease permeated
