Grave Deeds (24 page)

“Ellen would say anything that leaves her out of it,” Bonnie said. “Especially if she thinks Roger is in serious trouble. I bet he had contracts signed with some developer who thought he already owned the land.”

Gianelli nodded. “You're right about that part of it. That's why he was helping Dr. Finch try to force Mrs. Baker into giving her complete control of the property through power-of-attorney —they could have sold the land right away. But then the old lady died…”

“Was it an accident?”

“No,” he grinned at Wilson, then quickly covered up his triumph with a frown. “My hunch proved right. She was pushed. One or both of our suspects visited her recently; their fingerprints are on the stair railings and on her desk. I figure they got into an argument when they were going through the Cook papers she had stored in a room at the top of those stairs. She was probably going on and on about making things up with you. Could have been manslaughter,” he shrugged. “They'll probably argue that, anyway. Doesn't matter. We've got two cases solved here in one go. It's good for the books, eh Pete?”

“Poor Aunt Beatrice,” I said.

“He must have been furious when she fell,” Wilson put in. “If they'd been able to sell the land before she died, it wouldn't matter what her will said.”

“So they planned to get me alone up here and force me to sell the land to them,” I shivered. “I don't like to think how they were going to do that.”

“That's when Marilyn found the relics,” Will said. “When
she came up here to set the scene for you.”

“And Markham came after her,” Gianelli summed up.

“But he didn't kill her,” Will continued. “Rosie and I have been talking this over. We think we know who did that.”

“Of course Roger did it,” Bonnie snapped. “She was trying to hold out on him, on account of the relics.”

“It was you all along,” I accused her. “That's why you were so anxious to come up here. You had this planned: bringing the children here and taking the artifacts. It's how you were going to finance a new life with them. You and Robin and Hank were after the relics; Marilyn just wanted the land. What happened? Did she find the trunk and hide it here? And then one of you — Robin, I bet, he's been out of town a lot this week — got into a fight with her about it? And killed her?”

“It was an accident,” Robin cried. He held his hands out to Gianelli in appeal. “I didn't mean to hurt her.”

“Don't say anything,” Bonnie ordered.

Robin opened his mouth, then closed it.

“You had an argument? You acted in self defence?” Wilson goaded him.

He muttered, “I tried to reason with her. I told her why we needed the money, so we could take the children and start a new life together. It's all for the children. Her children.”

“You bastard,” Hank strained towards the other man. “I loved Marilyn. You knew that. I was going to give her my share, for her law suit. She needs the money now that she can't sell the land.”

“Why didn't you call the police?” Lachance interrupted, trying to defuse the boy's anger and to encourage Robin to continue his story. “If it was an accident…”

“I was going to, but Bonnie wouldn't let me. She said you wouldn't believe it was an accident and that we'd get into trouble over the relics. Especially the bones. I was going to move the car later, but I didn't get the chance.”

“What bones?” Gianelli demanded.

I wasn't about to get sidetracked.

“You set up the kidnapping of Megan after I told you we'd found the relics,” I accused Bonnie. “That's why you were out so early — meeting with Robin. How could you put me through that? I was frantic for Megan. And what about Ryan?
He was terrified for his sister and sick with guilt. And horror, too. What kind of mother are you?”

Bonnie looked up then. I recoiled from her glare.

“What do you know about motherhood?” she snarled. “You're so full of advice, know-it-all. I'm sick of you. All of you.” She turned her back on us.

Hank chose that moment to make his getaway. He kicked Wilson hard in the groin. Wilson screamed, folding into himself, falling. Hank whirled and shoved Lachance hard. Her arms flailed as she fought for balance, her feet slipping on the wet boards. Hank didn't pause; he elbowed Bonnie viciously as he charged past her. I saw her clutch one breast and grimace with pain.

And then he was off, racing up the road towards the cottage.

“Stop,” Gianelli yelled. “I'll have to shoot.” He unbuckled his holster and pulled the gun half-way out.

“Don't,” I said, reaching for his arm.

Hank hesitated as he reached our car. He turned around, his right hand slipping inside his jacket as if he was reaching for something.

“Watch out,” Bonnie screamed. “He's got the real gun in his belt.”

All of us, except Gianelli, ducked. Noise erupted: the shot roared louder than seemed possible, loud enough to drown the sudden eruption as birds rose in panic from the bushes along the river; loud enough to drown Hank's cry and my own scream; loud enough to leave in its wake a silence that drummed on the ears, holding us all in the pause between heartbeats, before our breaths came back, and then the tears.

Lachance limped up the road towards the body that lay sprawled in the muddy tracks. Gianelli leaned over the bridge rail and vomited into the water. He wiped his mouth, and looked over at us. Bonnie was on her knees beside her car, whispering to the children who could not be seen. Robin had fallen to his knees and was weeping into his palms. Will and I held on to each other, neither of us able to speak.

“I didn't mean…” Gianelli began. “He shouldn't have run.”

“S'okay, Joe,” Wilson put his hand on his partner's arm. “You didn't have any choice. Give me the gun, eh?”

Gianelli dropped it. It hit the wooden planks with a clang, spun around and stopped, the barrel pointing at Bonnie. I suppressed a giggle; it was too much like a mad game of “spin the bottle,” the prize here a final cold kiss.

Lachance straightened up and came slowly back towards us. She didn't look at Gianelli. “I'll have to call it in,” she said.

“He's dead?” I whispered.

She nodded, biting her lip. “Anyone know his next of kin?”

“I guess that's me.” I began to tremble. First Aunt Beatrice, then Uncle Henry; Marilyn's corpse in the car; Hank in the dirt: all the Cooks and Bakers were gone, leaving only me who never had belonged as the last of them.

“What about his weapon?” Gianelli asked.

“There wasn't one,” the constable answered.

“But you all saw him reaching for something,” Gianelli protested.

I turned on Bonnie, but she was faster. “You've done it now,” she accused him. “Shot him right in front of my kids. I hope you're satisfied. I hope now you'll let us go.”

“It was you,” I began, but Gianelli didn't wait to hear what I had to say.

“I thought he had a gun,” he repeated, his voice dull. “I saw him reaching…”

“That's enough,” Wilson interrupted. “Let's leave it for the SIU. That's the Special Investigations Unit,” he added softly, to us. “They'll have to take a look at this.”

“Shit,” Gianelli groaned. “I think I'll go sit down, if you don't mind.” He shrugged off Wilson's hand and trudged over to his car. He sat in the passenger seat, feet outside on the ground, head in his hands.

“It's all your fault,” I said to Bonnie. “You're not going to be able to twist your way out of this one. Hank was just a kid, he didn't do anything wrong but panic and run.”

“I thought he had a gun,” Bonnie retorted. “He showed me one earlier when we came out to the cars. That toy was for Ryan.”

“Stop lying,” I said. “We know the truth. Robin's admitted that he's the one who killed her.”

“Give me a break, Rosie,” Bonnie answered. “It's so obvious why Hank ran. He knew he wasn't going to get away with it.
Robin was just trying to cover for him, that nonsense about an accident.” She pulled on the car door but it didn't budge.

I imagined the two children inside, crouched on the floor, still so terrified they would not let even their mother in.

“Ryan? Megan? Open the door for Mommy.” She rattled it angrily, then hit the car roof with the flat of her palm. She turned back to Wilson. “When can we go?”

“Not just yet,” Wilson said. “You're going to have to make a statement about what went on here. This kidnapping that Mrs. Cairns referred to. And Dr. Finch.”

“What's to say?” Bonnie's sigh was nearly a shriek.

“Your friend here,” Wilson nodded at Robin, “has just confessed to murder. As well as the kidnapping: two kidnappings, am I right? Does their father know where the kids are?”

Bonnie didn't answer that last question. “I'm not responsible for what
he
does,” she spat, pointing with her thumb at the man who, still on his knees, was rocking back and forth, hugging himself.

“Bonnie,” Robin looked up. He'd taken his glasses off to wipe his face with his sleeve. Unframed, his eyes were redrimmed and vulnerable. “It's gone too far.”

“Shut up,” she hissed. “Think of the kids.”

“You're not doing a very good job of that,” I said. “Look what you've dragged them into.”

“You keep out of this. Interfering bitch.” She shoved me aside and stalked over to Robin, standing over him, hands on hips. “Come on, Robin. Tell them you were lying to protect that little creep. They'll let us go.”

He shook his head. “It's too late. That boy is dead and it's our fault.”

“Your fault, you mean.” She turned away from him. “I knew I should have come up here and taken care of it all myself. I knew I shouldn't trust you to get things right.”

“How can you say that?” Robin lurched to his feet. “I've done everything for you. I even killed for you.” His voice broke.

“That's enough.” Wilson said. “You're both under arrest, for kidnapping and murder.”

Lachance rejoined us on the bridge. “Help's on the way,” she reported. “I asked them to send a social worker too. For the kids.”

“What do you mean, for the kids?” Bonnie snapped. “They stay with me.”

Lachance shook her head. “No, ma'am, not until we get this all sorted out. The kids need someone who can help them deal with trauma. It's not an easy thing, seeing someone killed.”

Bonnie glared at Wilson.

“He had to,” the detective defended his partner. “He warned him, you all heard that. You all saw that kid reaching for something. How was he to know that he didn't have a weapon?”

Lachance ignored him. “We'll be calling their father. I assume you can give us his number so he can come get them?”

“Can't they at least drive back to the city with me?” Bonnie cried. “Can't I have that much more time with them?”

The two cops shook their heads. “Sorry.”

Bonnie started to cry. “I only did it for them. To be with them.”

“Great job you did too,” I snapped.

She glared at me.

Lachance gestured at the car. “You can talk to them until the social worker gets here. You've got some explaining to do to them.”

“You mean I'm actually allowed to speak to my own children?”

“If they want to listen to you.”

Bonnie tossed her head. “Of course they will.” She strode back to her car and banged on the glass. For a moment, nothing happened, then Ryan peeked up over the edge of the dash. “Come on,” Bonnie said. “It's all right. You can come out now.”

After a long moment, the door opened. Ryan stepped out, clinging to the handle, his eyes darting from Robin to the two policemen, to Will and me. He avoided looking up the road. I couldn't blame him. Megan followed, the baby blanket tucked around her like a shawl, T. Bear clutched under her arm.

When they reached their mother, she hugged them fiercely. “I'm sorry. I only wanted us to be together.”

“Are we in trouble? Are we going to be arrested?” Ryan asked.

“No, no,” Bonnie said. She stroked her daughter's hair
away from her eyes.

The little girl hung back. “Are we going home?”

“Sure you are,” Lachance said. “Your Daddy's going to come and get you soon.”

“You mean really, really home?” she asked again.

“Really,” she smiled at the little girl.

“Is Mom coming with us?” Ryan asked.

There was an awkward silence punctuated by Bonnie's sniffs as she tried to hold back her tears.

Wilson's voice was gruff. “You can sit together in the cruiser until it's time to leave.”

“Is that a good idea?” Lachance objected. “It's against regulations.”

Wilson shrugged. “So where's she going to go? We'll need a tow truck to clear the way out of here.”

Bonnie took the two children by the hand and led them across the bridge. She looked back at me once before ducking into the back seat. I looked away.

“Come on,” Wilson said to Robin. “You can wait in our car. Just leave Joe alone, though, okay? He won't want to be talking to you.” He grabbed Robin roughly by the elbow and steered him over to the sedan. Gianelli didn't even look up as the car rocked with Robin's entrance. The back door slammed and Wilson returned to stand beside us on the bridge.

Constable Lachance showed me the gray blanket she had tucked under one arm. “I'm going to cover him,” she said, pointing up the trail. “Do you want see him? Before the others get here?”

I looked at the still form lying in the trail, arms and legs splayed wide as if grasping the earth, ready to push himself up and away. The birds had begun singing again and the flies had returned to cloud about our heads. The image of Marilyn's face came back to me, the flesh squashed against the glass, the flies, as Ryan had told it, crawling from her nose.