his face.
“This partner could be a killer,” I said. “Might have decided he didn’t want to share the winnings with Louis.”
At which point, a torrent of rain began to fall. But Gareth didn’t move. Neither did I. Nor did I bother to flip my jacket hood over my head.
“Could be he shot Tommy too and killed Marie,” I continued.
He remained still, with his eyes riveted on me. The rain flattened his hair, coursed down his face and onto his crossed arms. He ignored it. Finally, he said, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You could be mixed up with a killer.”
His eyes sparked. “Pile of crap.”
My ear caught the sound of a car splashing up the Whiteduck drive. I saw with relief the white paint of a police cruiser flashing through the trees. “You can tell that to the police,” I said.
The SQ police cruiser drove past Gareth’s car and came to a stop next to us. Out stepped the rigid form of Sgt. LaFramboise, joined by his partner.
LaFramboise cast a suspicious scowl in my direction. “Eh bien, madame. Curious, how you are always at the scene of crime, non?”
He turned his pointed nose to Gareth. “And you, monsieur, why you are here?”
Gareth smiled confidently and held the envelope so the officer could read the addressee, then returned it to his pocket. “I was just delivering this offer of employment to Tommy Whiteduck, when I ran into Miss Harris. She tells me, however, that the unfortunate man has had an accident. So if you don’t mind, I’ll get out of your hair and deliver this to him at the Somerset Hospital, which is where I assume he is. It’ll help to take his mind off his injuries.”
At that moment, Chief Decontie’s 4×4 cruiser crunched to a stop behind LaFramboise’s vehicle. He hopped out and sauntered towards us, with another Migiskan police officer trailing behind him. He nodded in my direction. LaFramboise said something to his partner in French, which I took to be an order to begin the search, for the cop motioned for the other cop to join him and the two of them walked towards the front door of the Whiteduck shack.
“No, not there,” I shouted. “Tommy was shot around back.”
LaFramboise peered at me. “And how know you this, madame?”
“I found blood and the bullet holes,” I blurted out guiltily. His tone made me feel as if I were the criminal.
“Show me,” he said. And we started to walk towards the back of the house. With this downpour, I doubted that much remained of the blood or the elongated “y” footprints.
It was at this point that I suddenly realized Gareth was no longer with us. I looked up in time to see the back end of his black sports car disappearing down the drive.
“Quick, after him,” I yelled. “I found his bracelet lying on the ground where Tommy was shot.” I held it up.
LaFramboise shouted something at his partner, who ran to the cruiser and with a jet of wet gravel and dirt sped after Gareth. Then, he turned his attention to the bracelet, “Why do you remove it, madame? It is no more good evidence. I do not know if it is true. I only know because you tell me.”
I started to get indignant at his implied accusation, then realized he was right. I should’ve left it exactly where I’d found it. I hastily apologized, then took him and Decontie around to the back of the house to show them the bullet holes in the outhouse door and the metal box where the twenty dollar bills now lay in a puddle of water.
For the next half hour, while the other policeman from the reserve took pictures of the site, LaFramboise and Decontie drilled me on what I’d found. Thankfully, we sat in the police cruiser, though to be truthful, remaining in the rain wouldn’t have made me any wetter.
By the time we were finished, the cop had returned without Gareth. His car had vanished before the chase had even begun, and although the officer had searched the area, he’d found no trace of Gareth. Infuriated, LaFramboise immediately radioed what I took to be a message alerting other police to be on the lookout for Gareth’s vehicle.
“And don’t forget the hospital,” I said in my halting French, which LaFramboise acknowledged with a curt nod.
Good, that should get him, I thought. Let’s see him try to brush off the police as easily as he did me. He’ll be forced to admit to his involvement in this whole sordid affair and identify the probable killer, Louis’s partner.
With a final word of warning not to leave the area, LaFramboise let me go. When I reached home, I found, much to my surprise a voice message from Tommy wanting me to visit him in the hospital. A call to the nursing station confirmed that he had gained consciousness sooner than expected, and although the doctor was with him at the moment, he should be free by the time I arrived.
THIRTY-NINE
At the door to Tommy’s hospital room, I was reassured by the presence of a cop standing, or more correctly sitting, on guard. Moreover, he was able to assure me that no one fitting the description of Gareth had visited Tommy’s room, from which I could safely conclude that the police had nabbed him.
Tommy lay propped against the raised back of his bed. A large white bandage covered his head wound. A stiff white sheet hid the rest of his body. Judging by the rigid way he held it, he was either firmly bandaged or still in considerable pain. Probably both. Two sets of tubes, one clear, the other red ran from his arms up to the plastic bags dangling from the metal stand at the side of his bed. Considering the amount of blood he’d left behind, the sight of the blood transfusion came as no surprise.
His opened his eyes as I approached his bed. He smiled weakly. “You came . . .” he whispered and closed his eyes as he winced in pain.
Watching him catch his breath, I realized I’d been too hasty. “I think I should come back later when you’re feeling better.”
“No, Miss Harris, don’t leave. It’s all right . . . I think they’ve given me some kind of pain killer. It really doesn’t hurt me that much . . . Just the bandages are kind of tight.” He struggled to move his body into a more comfortable position.
I reached out to help him. “Please, forget the Miss Harris nonsense. After what we’ve been through, I think I deserve to be called Meg,” I said.
“I’ve been a jerk, Miss . . . I mean Meg. I want to apologize—” A fit of coughing stopped him in mid-sentence.
“Don’t say anything more. I should be the one to apologize,” I replied. “I thought you killed your parents.”
He held his eyes closed, then directed their blue brilliance towards me. “I gave you plenty of reason.”
“No, I should’ve trusted Marie’s son.”
“Please . . . I gave you no reason to trust me. I behaved badly. I spurned your offer of help, and I lied to you.” He stopped and took a few shallow breaths, then continued in a stronger voice.
“And it was for the most selfish of reasons, stupid Anishinabeg pride. All my life I’ve resented your family, your money and your white skin.
