James Carol - The Quiet Man

‘But this guy didn’t do that. All he had was a picture on his cell.’

‘Exactly. Dog owners can be pretty obsessive. If their pride and joy goes missing they’re going to move heaven and hell to get it back.’

‘The fact that the dog guy didn’t have a flyer doesn’t prove that this is the killer. It’s not even close to being conclusive.’

‘No, it’s not. But you’ve got to admit, it is a bit strange.’

Anderton did a quick scan of the park, her gaze tracing a one-hundred-and-eighty-degree arc that moved from left to right, taking in people, taking in the sights.

‘Okay, let’s say the dog guy is the killer. How did he track them here? He couldn’t have followed them from the house. That would be too risky.’

‘Agreed.’

‘So how did he know they’d be here?’ She paused. ‘Okay, we still haven’t answered the question of how he chooses his victims. Maybe this is how he does it. Maybe he hangs around parks just waiting for the right person to come along, then gives them a sob story about his lost dog.’

‘Then what? He follows them home so he can find out where they live.’ Winter shook his head. ‘That’s as risky as following them from their homes. Also, Cody said the picnic at the park was a week ago. This guy likes to take things slow and careful. He’s going to want to spend more than a week surveilling them. Remember, there’s a year between the murders. That’s a lot of time for planning.’

‘So how did he do it? How did he know that they’d be having a picnic here?’

Winter smiled. ‘That is so the right question, Anderton. How did he know? Because this guy is omniscient, right? He knows everything. He’s like some sort of god. Except nobody has those sort of powers. I mean, who’s got the power to see into other people’s lives like that? To know what they’re up to and what they’re planning on doing, and when they’re planning on doing it? That’s just so not going to happen, is it?’

Anderton laughed. ‘Okay, okay, I get it. You think he’s been watching her Facebook account.’

She took out her cell phone and Winter scooted closer so he could watch. Myra Hooper wasn’t a particularly common name so it only took thirty seconds to find her profile. She was the third Myra Hooper on the list. Anderton clicked to open the profile. Myra had used a photograph of Cody for her profile picture. Dark hair, dark eyes and that goofy grin. Winter thought of him looking lost and alone on the beanbag and wondered if he’d ever grin like that again. The answer was no. Sure, he would smile again, and he would laugh and joke and have a good time, and there would even be days when he didn’t think about his mom, but he would never grin like this again. There was an innocence there that had been lost forever. Out of all the things that had happened here today, that was what got to Winter most. It was always the little things.

Myra had eight hundred and fifty-three friends and her relationship status was set to It’s complicated . Her privacy settings were on the lowest level, which meant that they could access her timeline without friending her. Which meant that the killer would have been able to access it as well. The murder had only happened this morning but there were already twenty condolence messages, all of them saying much the same thing. RIP. You’re going to be missed. Thinking of you. The outpouring of love was understandable but it wasn’t going to bring her back.

Myra had last posted a status update at 11.23 the previous evening. Looking forward to camping with Cody at the weekend. Hope it doesn’t rain LOL. Last time we went the tent leaked and we ended up drowned. Where’s Noah’s Ark when you need it!!! That was another thing with murder. It came slamming out of the blue and the clocks just stopped. That book you were reading would never be finished, that film you wanted to see would never be watched, and that camping trip you were planning on taking with your ten-year-old son was never going to happen. For Winter, it was a gig that never got seen. His mom had bought tickets for a U2 concert. Winter had never been to a rock concert before and U2 were one of his favourite bands. He was beyond excited. This was going to be the best day of his life. His father was arrested the day before the concert. By the time he remembered about the tickets, the gig had been and gone.

Anderton scrolled down. Myra was a Facebook addict. Every aspect of her life was on there for the whole world to see, described with words and photographs. The tears and joy, the heartbreak and celebrations. At 7.23 on the evening of July 27 she’d written a brief post about how she and Cody were going on a picnic to Alexandra Park the next day.

Anderton sighed and looked over at him. ‘It’s almost too easy.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘I don’t get it,’ she said. ‘Do people not realise that this stuff actually goes public?’

‘Oversharing is currently at epidemic proportions. And what’s really worrying is that it’s only going to get worse.’

‘Talking of which, do we pass this on to Freeman? At the moment I feel like we’re doing all the work and getting none of the credit.’

‘Agreed, but we should still pass it on. He’s got the resources of the whole of the Vancouver Police Department at his disposal. On that basis I’d give him the ball and let him run with it. If he finds anything, then your winged monkeys will tell us, right?’

‘They will.’

‘In which case it’s a win/win.’

‘So why doesn’t it feel like one?’

While Anderton made the call, Winter went over things in his head, wondering what their next move should be. As always, there were just too many questions and nowhere near enough answers. There was one question that kept niggling away and just wouldn’t let go. Anderton finished her call and put her cell away. She turned around and caught him staring.

‘Why are you looking at me like that?’

‘Just thinking.’

‘Well, can you think without making your eyes spin? It’s creeping me out.’

Winter did his best to look serious. ‘Better?’

‘Not really. So, what are you thinking about?’

‘Escaping. Or, to be more precise, escapology.’

‘Okay,’ she said, drawing the syllables out. ‘Would you care to expand on that?’

‘A couple of months before he died, Harry Houdini spent ninety-one minutes in a coffin that had been lowered into the pool at the Shelton Hotel in New York. In doing so he smashed the previous record by thirty-one minutes. This is widely regarded as being his greatest feat. Considering some of the things he got up to, that’s saying something.’

‘And when exactly did this take place? Or should I take a wild stab in the dark?’

‘Go on, give it your best shot.’

‘August 5.’

‘August 5, 1926, to be exact.’ Winter jumped to his feet. ‘Come on, let’s go see if we can work out why today is so important to the killer.’

Granville Square was a thirty-storey high-rise in Downtown. The top floor had been commandeered to provide air-traffic control for the seaplanes using the harbour. The building was four hundred and sixty-five feet tall, making this the highest air-traffic control centre in the world. The Vancouver Sun had called this building home since 1997. The journalist who met them at reception was old school. Estimating her age was tricky. She looked about seventy, but might only have been fifty. Her skin had a waxy yellow sheen to it and she spoke like she smoked two packs a day. She was tall and thin and wearing a bright red dress that matched her bright red lipstick. Her spectacles were dangling from a chain around her neck.

‘Jefferson Winter meet Rebecca Byrne,’ Anderton said. ‘Rebecca Byrne meet Jefferson Winter.’