this happened.” When Jake complied he repeated, “You’re absolutely sure, Mr. Barr, this is where you were lying when the shot was fired?”
Jake had little difficulty in pinpointing the spot some two-car lengths from the now shattered gate. Finally satisfied, Boisvert and Charron walked to the base of the tree struck by the bullet and conversed briefly with each other in French. Both nodded several times in apparent agreement.
It was Charron who now approached Jake. Boisvert, his hands plunged deeply into his pockets, was a half step behind, listening intently.
“Mr. Barr, how long was it, would you say, from the time the shot was fired until you heard Mr. Henry shouting? Are you absolutely sure the shouting came from the house?”
A bolt of alarm raced up Jake’s spine.
“Now wait a minute, what the hell are you guys getting at? I heard Grant shouting only a few seconds after the shot was fired and there’s absolutely no question he was inside the house or certainly very close to it when he yelled at me. And, as you can plainly see, that house is a hell of a long way from where that shot was fired. Geez Murphy, what are you thinking? Grant’s dog has been killed, his daughter, whom I assure you he loves deeply, has been abducted, their housekeeper, who’s a very good friend, is missing, and you’re standing there, hinting all over the place that maybe he had something to do with it! Kidnapping his own daughter! Killing his own dog! Is that really what you guys are thinking? Come on. Get serious!”
Charron paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts, glancing briefly at Boisvert. “Oui, oui,” he muttered to himself in French, then said in English. “You are probably right, but then again some things puzzle us. You are police, you put some pieces together for us.” He stopped, waiting for a response, then continued when there was none. “Okay, first off, by the time you heard that car pull away, we had already been alerted and were setting up road blocks. We figure the one at Ste Rose de Peche went up no more than twenty minutes after the shots were fired and probably only about fifteen minutes after you heard the car drive away. Speeding like a crazy man, you could clear Ste Rose in less time than that, but ten minutes later we had another roadblock at Domville. That’s a good forty-five kilometres to the north of Ste Rose. The kidnapper’s car couldn’t possibly have made it that far in that time.
“That’s to the north. To the south, we had a roadblock up at the Meech Road intersection long before any car could have made it from here according to your timetable. There’s only one road, as you know, up through these hills, which means they’re either still in this area or a helicopter popped down and lifted them out. That’s possible I suppose, but dangerous as hell in these mountains in the dark. The other thing is, we’ve checked, and Air Traffic Control, both at Macdonald Cartier International in Ottawa and the local airport at Gatineau report nothing. The Macdonald Cartier radar definitely would have spotted a helicopter.”
“They could have parked a car on this side of a roadblock,” said Jake, “walked around it through the hills, then been picked up by another car on the other side. Hell, they could be holed up someplace right around here.”
It was Boisvert who responded. “Yes they could have stayed in this area, although it’s not likely, but as for walking around the roadblocks, where’s the car? Our men have checked every side road and every field large enough to park a car within walking distance of the roadblocks and have found nothing, but even so, if that’s all that was puzzling about this we wouldn’t be as concerned. The fact is, there are a few other things hard to explain. The hair in Mr. Henry’s car. That means someone...excuse me...whoever kidnapped the daughter must have hung around waiting until the father arrived...knowing he would abandon his car and run to the house!” The little detective shot both eyebrows skyward, dangerously close to his hairline. “And...you really have to ask yourself, why would anyone leave a car and run a good half kilometre instead of drive? And how could the kidnappers have possibly known he was going to do that? Getting back to your friend’s little jog down the laneway, you must have asked yourself why he would leave his car here at the gate and run all the way to the house, keeping in mind, of course, he was in a great hurry.”
He shot Jake a quizzical look, and continued without providing a chance for a reply. “There is also the matter of the licence plate we found in the house...from Mr. Henry’s car let’s not forget...and there’s something else.” He peered intently at Jake. “You say the person with the rifle was only up there.” He gestured towards the knoll. “Whoever it was must have seen you in that car. They could hardly miss you could they, with all the lights and everything? They must have known you couldn’t be far away from the car when they fired. How could that shot...” Here he stepped closer and pointed his finger directly at Jake’s head then away towards the tree which had been hit. “How could that shot have missed you by so much?”
Jake snapped the answer in a rapid burst of anger. “How the hell should I know? Maybe he was blind. Maybe he shot high on purpose. Maybe he was a dumb separatist and lucky he didn’t shoot himself?” He knew it was a mistake and was sorry before the words were half out, but the bastards had asked for it. “Besides which,” he add hastily, “how about the guy who yelled at me?”
Both Charron and Boisvert looked at him coldly, a slight flush creeping up Boisvert’s extraordinary face. “Ah oui,” he said, “we believe there is more than one person involved in this all right!”
He began to walk away, then turned around suddenly.
“Oh,” in his precise English, “Constable Barr, in discussing this situation with your superiors a few moments ago, they were distressed that you had abandoned your post in Ottawa to attend a situation out of your jurisdiction without their knowledge or approval. They indicated they would very much appreciate hearing from you at your earliest possible convenience with an explanation!”
Boisvert wheeled and walked briskly away towards the Henry house. He was startled for an instant, as the windows appeared to fill with flames, then realized they had caught the ball of fire just now cresting Mt. Cascade in the east.
* * *
The outburst between Grant and Boisvert at the garage command post had shocked and puzzled Superintendent Charron.
At the first opportunity, he cornered Boisvert alone. “What are you up to?” he asked. “What have we got here? Some kind of good cop bad cop? Why? Henry doesn’t have anything to do with this. Better clue me in.” He peered intently at Boisvert over the Henry kitchen table and had to stifle a sudden desire to giggle. “My God,” he thought, “this guy looks like a chicken!”
It was the fighting cock that replied. “You’re probably right, but I smell something very funny going on here. This guy’s in the entertainment business isn’t he? Any idea what this kind of publicity would do for him? This is the kind of thing which could pump him right into the great U.S. of A., and can you just imagine what the TV or movie rights for something like this would be worth. The guy just got a divorce didn’t he? Any idea what that must have cost him? Listen, I learned a long time ago that people will do almost anything for money, and there’s nothing they won’t do for money and fame. Besides which,” he added, speaking softly, “you forget the most important part of all.” He paused and stared intently into Charron’s eyes.
Charron broke the silence.
“Which is?”
“If this English son of a bitch gets too much sympathy here it could really hurt us.”
There was no mistaking what Boisvert meant by “us”. For a moment, Charron found himself back in that room just overhead, staring at a licence plate beneath a bloodstained
