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Authors: Inger Ash Wolfe
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defensive
wound. And he does it before he bleeds her.
There's evidence of edema – swelling.'
Hazel looked closely at the other hand. 'Just one.'
'Just the one.'
'The easiest one to break,' she said, and Deacon
nodded.
The three of them stared at the hand for almost
a full ten seconds.
'Maybe he didn't want her to feel any pain,' said
Wingate.
'So he breaks her finger?'
'To make sure she's asleep,' he said. 'Then he
poisons her, puts the port in her leg and he begins.'
Deacon lowered Delia's arm and Wingate looked
up at his new boss.
'So he cares ?' she said to him.
The doctor began rolling the body back toward
its hole in the wall.
* * *
They drove back to Port Dundas with the radio
playing quietly under their silence. Mercy was one
thing, thought Hazel, but DC Wingate's suggestion
that there was actual thoughtfulness in the killer's
actions disturbed her. If it were true, it meant the
killer was not angry, he was not fuelled by a sense
of injustice, or overripe with hatred. Those kinds of
killers slipped up: their passions led them. What
was he doing by making it appear as if he'd killed
Delia Chandler in a rage? Delia was already being
killed by cancer. Was a more overt act of murder a
comment on her disease? A critique of its silent,
creeping methods? And the mouth, what did this
disguise?
'What kind of "caring" are we talking about
here, do you think?' Hazel said.
Wingate took his eyes off the road for the first
time. The turnoff for Port Dundas was coming up
on their right. 'I shouldn't have said anything,' he
said. 'I don't know anything about this case yet.'
'You know about as much as any of us, Detective.
It's okay to think aloud.'
'He might have broken her finger by accident.'
'Do you really think that?'
He sat, seemingly unwilling to reply, as she
took the turnoff. 'No,' he said at last. 'My guess is
he was in complete control of the whole situation.'
'That's where I'm at too,' she said.
'It's hard to know what we're supposed to be
paying attention to,' said Wingate. 'Is he there to
take her blood? To murder her? To desecrate her in
some way?'
'Maybe all of it,' said Hazel. She was taking the
last turn before the bridge over the Kilmartin
River.
'We're not going to know anything until we
have another body. To see if he's being consistent
with his victims.' Hazel shot a look at her new
detective constable. He shifted uncomfortably.
'You don't get this good on your first try,' he said.
'You think there are other victims? Where are
they?'
'Nearby.' He cleared his throat. 'Most serial
killers stake out a territory and work it methodically.'
Her jaw seemed to be stuck in a half-open
position. She consciously closed her mouth and put
her attention back on the road. 'There's thinking
out loud and then there's thinking out loud, James.
I wish you hadn't said any of that.'
'I'm sorry,' he muttered.
'What I mean is, I hope you're wrong.'
* * *
They pulled into the station house at 3 p.m. Shift
change. Ray Greene was standing at the back door
with a plastic bag at his feet and his arms crossed
over his chest. 'What's that?' said Hazel as she
locked the car.
'Gift,' said Ray. 'For you.' She took the bag from
him and pulled out a box. It was a cellphone. She
stared at it like it was a moonrock. 'You buy twenty
bucks' worth of time at a go. I'm the only one with
the number.'
'I don't want a cellphone, Ray.'
'I know. But you need one. If you'd had a cell this
afternoon, I could have called you on your way
back and told you to meet me up in Chamberlain.
The community police there are shitting
themselves.'
'They called us in? That's East Central. We've
got no jurisdiction there.'
'It's just a little office, something like three cops.
I asked them why they hadn't called the Ottawa
OPS, but they'd heard about Delia Chandler and
they were pretty insistent on us coming out there.
They have a crime scene they described to me as
"creative".'
Hazel looked over at Wingate, who was keeping
his expression
wound. And he does it before he bleeds her.
There's evidence of edema – swelling.'
Hazel looked closely at the other hand. 'Just one.'
'Just the one.'
'The easiest one to break,' she said, and Deacon
nodded.
The three of them stared at the hand for almost
a full ten seconds.
'Maybe he didn't want her to feel any pain,' said
Wingate.
'So he breaks her finger?'
'To make sure she's asleep,' he said. 'Then he
poisons her, puts the port in her leg and he begins.'
Deacon lowered Delia's arm and Wingate looked
up at his new boss.
'So he cares ?' she said to him.
The doctor began rolling the body back toward
its hole in the wall.
* * *
They drove back to Port Dundas with the radio
playing quietly under their silence. Mercy was one
thing, thought Hazel, but DC Wingate's suggestion
that there was actual thoughtfulness in the killer's
actions disturbed her. If it were true, it meant the
killer was not angry, he was not fuelled by a sense
of injustice, or overripe with hatred. Those kinds of
killers slipped up: their passions led them. What
was he doing by making it appear as if he'd killed
Delia Chandler in a rage? Delia was already being
killed by cancer. Was a more overt act of murder a
comment on her disease? A critique of its silent,
creeping methods? And the mouth, what did this
disguise?
'What kind of "caring" are we talking about
here, do you think?' Hazel said.
Wingate took his eyes off the road for the first
time. The turnoff for Port Dundas was coming up
on their right. 'I shouldn't have said anything,' he
said. 'I don't know anything about this case yet.'
'You know about as much as any of us, Detective.
It's okay to think aloud.'
'He might have broken her finger by accident.'
'Do you really think that?'
He sat, seemingly unwilling to reply, as she
took the turnoff. 'No,' he said at last. 'My guess is
he was in complete control of the whole situation.'
'That's where I'm at too,' she said.
'It's hard to know what we're supposed to be
paying attention to,' said Wingate. 'Is he there to
take her blood? To murder her? To desecrate her in
some way?'
'Maybe all of it,' said Hazel. She was taking the
last turn before the bridge over the Kilmartin
River.
'We're not going to know anything until we
have another body. To see if he's being consistent
with his victims.' Hazel shot a look at her new
detective constable. He shifted uncomfortably.
'You don't get this good on your first try,' he said.
'You think there are other victims? Where are
they?'
'Nearby.' He cleared his throat. 'Most serial
killers stake out a territory and work it methodically.'
Her jaw seemed to be stuck in a half-open
position. She consciously closed her mouth and put
her attention back on the road. 'There's thinking
out loud and then there's thinking out loud, James.
I wish you hadn't said any of that.'
'I'm sorry,' he muttered.
'What I mean is, I hope you're wrong.'
* * *
They pulled into the station house at 3 p.m. Shift
change. Ray Greene was standing at the back door
with a plastic bag at his feet and his arms crossed
over his chest. 'What's that?' said Hazel as she
locked the car.
'Gift,' said Ray. 'For you.' She took the bag from
him and pulled out a box. It was a cellphone. She
stared at it like it was a moonrock. 'You buy twenty
bucks' worth of time at a go. I'm the only one with
the number.'
'I don't want a cellphone, Ray.'
'I know. But you need one. If you'd had a cell this
afternoon, I could have called you on your way
back and told you to meet me up in Chamberlain.
The community police there are shitting
themselves.'
'They called us in? That's East Central. We've
got no jurisdiction there.'
'It's just a little office, something like three cops.
I asked them why they hadn't called the Ottawa
OPS, but they'd heard about Delia Chandler and
they were pretty insistent on us coming out there.
They have a crime scene they described to me as
"creative".'
Hazel looked over at Wingate, who was keeping
his expression