not a prepubescent child.”
Ed Reiner was an OB/GYN with a thriving practice in town, making his on-the-spot determination of sex and age range more reliable than that of the average small-town coroner.
Ed stooped for a closer look at the skull. His gloved fingers probed the splintered bones of the depression. “Pretty safe to say this is the cause of death. I’ll take some more photographs at the hospital morgue.” His phone rang and he stripped off his gloves before answering.
“I have to go. Patient in labour. I’m all done here, anyway.”
Thea and Oliver transferred the bones into a body bag, then spent another hour collecting samples from the bottom of the locker and floor. Finally, they disappeared around a corner into the area that held the showers and toilet stalls.
Thea came out and spoke to him. “Chief, we found a discolouration on the edge of a porcelain sink. I took some swabs before spraying it with Luminol. The stain reacted, but it could be something other than blood, like fecal matter or even fossilized horseradish. Other than that, I don’t see anything that matches the size and shape of the wound.”
When the EMTs arrived, Neil asked them to take the body bag directly to the hospital morgue. Ed wanted to conduct a quick exam before sending them to the Provincial Forensic Pathology Unit in Toronto. The Unit would make it a priority to identify the victim. The evidence bags would be driven to the Centre of Forensic Sciences by one of his officers. Meanwhile, he needed an unofficial ID to work with.
The chill in the building seeped into his core, and he knew his team had to be feeling it, too. He planned to keep the scene secure for at least tonight, so he needed to arrange for coverage.
“Thea, where’s Dwayne? He can help seal this building off while we go back to the station to write our reports and get warm.”
“Dwayne’s working the Christmas parade. He’s driving the 4 X 4, flashing the lights and blasting the siren to give the kids a thrill.”
“Call him in, please. Priority.”
Leaving Thea to contact her partner, Neil opened the set of wide doors off the hallway and entered the shadowy gym. The ghostly imprints of basketball lines segmented the floor. Rims and nets hung on either end of the space. Tiers of benches sagged against the far wall, the wood splintered and rotting. A half-dozen folding tables defined the perimeter.
Metal trash cans stood beside each table and Neil looked into the nearest one. It was filled with shredded paper. He transferred the flashlight to his left hand and rummaged through the bin with his right, gloved hand. Before the mice moved in, the can had been filled with paper plates and cups. Plastic utensils had dropped to the bottom of the container.
The beam from his flashlight swept across the ceiling and stopped when something glittered back at him. What the hell? Memories of his high school years rushed back. The dances in the gym. Music, streamers, banners, spotlights. Spotlights aimed at …
He laughed at himself and watched the silver disco ball sway slowly in the air current flowing through the open doors.
After the final dance, did the graduates leave behind one dead classmate?
CHAPTER
two
My feet were freakin’ freezing, and the parade wasn’t half over. I wore long johns under my elf costume and wool socks on my feet. But the soles on my curly-toed shoes were so thin and smooth that I felt every wad of gum littering the parade route. And I was losing traction as the snow accumulated on the pavement. Everyone loves snow on Christmas Parade day. Everyone except this elf.
I had no scarf because “elves don’t wear scarves,” according to the parade führer and my ex-cousin-in-law Glory Yates. I donned red earmuffs but Glory took them away and handed me pointed, thin felt ears which hooked on over my own. As a result, my ears were as numb as my toes.
Glory had ordered me to walk along the parade route on the left side, smile at the children, and hand them candy canes. I tried that for a while, but it was more fun to toss the candy into the crowds of sugar-high kids and let them fight over it.
Glory trotted up ahead like a thoroughbred filly in a white designer ski suit and fur-lined boots. Her red hair exploded from under a green toque with a white bobble. She looked very Christmassy. And warm.
My cousin, Dougal Seabrook, worked the right side of the street. He was dressed like The Cat in the Hat and pushed a grocery cart to collect non-perishables for the food bank. He had complained bitterly about the costume, but I would have traded in a minute. At least his costume covered most of his body and nobody could recognize him.
I shuffled over to him, trying to stifle the ringing of the bells on the tips of my shoes. “Why is Glory wearing a headset? Who’s she talking to?”
Dougal snatched a can of tomatoes from a tot with a copiously running nose. The kid stuck out his tongue at Dougal, who shoved some candy at him and backed away. I heard him mutter, “Hope your teeth rot out, you snot-faced little shithead.”
To me he said, “Who knows? She’s probably hooked up to CSIS, identifying home-grown terrorists for them. Oh, hell, here she comes. Try to look like a home-grown patriot.”
Glory cantered up. Clipboard under her elbow, she managed to clap her hands together. “No fraternizing! And don’t forget the staff meeting at the greenhouse tomorrow morning.”
I marched in place and felt a painful tingling in my toes. “Why do we need a post-parade debriefing on Sunday? Can’t we do it another time, and another place?” Like in the summer, around her pool, with lime coolers to deaden the pain of listening to her voice.
She reached over and straightened one of my frozen ears. It was a miracle it didn’t snap off. “The parade is only one item on the agenda. If you see Rae, remind her as well. Now, you two, get back to your posts. Dougal, shoulders back! You’re supposed to be a role model. And, Bliss, I noticed you aren’t interacting with the crowd. Move, both of you, and whip this crowd into the Christmas spirit!”
She caught sight of a group of junior baton twirlers on the brink of a collective meltdown, and darted off. Once she was out of earshot, Dougal called after his ex-wife, “Fuck you.”
“Yeah, and the gas-guzzling Corvette you rode in on,” I added. Our voices may not have been the whispers we were trying for, since Glory turned around and started back. Fire burned in her sea-blue eyes.
I abandoned Dougal and ran up the street past the Salvation Army marching band to the head of the parade. On the way, I passed my friend, Rae, dressed as a chipmunk. Which one? Who cared? I didn’t stop to give her Glory’s message about the meeting. I eased in between the police Blazer 4 X 4 and the lead convertible, and threw a handful of candy canes at some hooting teens.
Well, geez, I couldn’t stay there either. The mayor and his wife, Mike and Andrea Bains, rode in the back seat of the convertible like a couple of royal poobahs. Mike, a.k.a. the Weasel, was my ex-husband, and Mrs. Weasel had been my lawyer during the divorce proceedings. It took me two years of living at poverty level before I persuaded them to hand over my fair share of the matrimonial assets. I had to use a smidge of blackmail and the resulting transaction hadn’t been profitable for them. A cold war still raged.
Taking aim at the top of Andrea’s faux fur hat, I winged a candy cane. Whoa, perfect
