James Carol - The Quiet Man

‘No, we wouldn’t want to do that.’

Anderton sighed. ‘This whole situation pisses me off. Freeman is such an asshole. We’ve done good, solid work here, but does he want to acknowledge that? No, he doesn’t. Not even a little bit.’

‘Okay, I’m going to throw your question back at you. Do you think this is our guy?’

Anderton smiled. ‘Honestly? I’d say it’s about thirty-seventy. You know, it might even be as low as twenty-eighty.’

‘Which is as good as saying that this is just a hunch, right?’

‘Exactly.’

‘So, what are we waiting for?’

At some point one of Freeman’s people was going to connect the dots. It might have already happened, in which case Winter reckoned they had about a thirty-minute head start. It would take that long for Freeman to arrange a raid. He’d need to get a team together, and brief them, and then they’d have to hustle over to Argyle Street. The curse of the large organisation was its lack of flexibility. The advantage of being a self-contained two-person unit was that they could make decisions and act immediately. Anderton was feeling the urgency, too. She had her foot down and was driving as fast as the traffic conditions allowed.

Winter spent the whole journey going through the gallery pictures. The photograph of the two sisters wasn’t a one-off. Gifford had a great eye. He seemed to have a knack for capturing those moments that another photographer might have missed. The pictures were so natural, the emotions totally genuine. Even when the photograph had clearly been staged, nothing looked forced.

He clicked through to the miscellaneous section. These pictures were in a different league altogether. They could have been hanging in a gallery and selling for a small fortune. If Winter had had a place to call home, he would have been happy to put these on his walls. This was what made Gifford’s heart sing. The pictures were arty and surreal. Vague impressions rather than actual images. It was almost impossible to tell what the original subject had been, but that didn’t matter because the subject matter was just a springboard for Gifford’s imagination.

One photograph in particular caught Winter’s eye. It was a manic swirl of reds, pinks and whites. Maybe once these had been lights on a highway caught in time-lapse. That was before Gifford had manipulated the image into something else entirely. The more Winter studied the image, the more unsettled he became. There was violence and death in this picture. Danger and mayhem. The next picture was different but the same. This time the swirls were coloured blue, purple and black. The overall effect was to cool down the violence and calm the mania. Considered together, the two images were like yin and yang.

Why would someone this talented choose to make a living taking baby photographs? Granted, it might not be through choice. Talent alone wasn’t enough to guarantee fame and fortune. That said, Winter reckoned that Gifford could have done better for himself. Which begged the question of why he would be happy to exist in the shadows. The second thing that had occurred to him as he was looking at the red-swirl photograph was that fifty-fifty has just gone up to sixty-forty.

Winter had just moved on to the corporate photographs when Anderton announced they were almost there. He glanced up from his cell phone and saw that they were passing through a middle-income neighbourhood. The houses were bigger than the one Myra Hooper had shared with Cody, but way smaller than Sobek’s place over in Kerrisdale.

He went back to his phone and swiped through the corporate pictures. Compared to some of the other photographs on the site these were fairly pedestrian. Then again, how much artistry could you bring to a head-and-shoulders shot of a CEO? He was swiping quickly, not really paying much attention to the faces flying past. Something spiked at his subconscious and he swiped back a picture. Whatever it was that had caught his attention it had nothing to do with the woman staring out from his phone. He swiped from left to right and a new face appeared on the screen. His heart thumped uncomfortably against his ribcage then settled again. Anderton must have sensed something. She looked over from the driver’s seat.

‘What?’ she asked.

He held his cell up and she glanced at the screen. Just for a second, but a second was all that was needed. The hair was shorter, the beard was gone, but there was no mistaking who this was.

‘That’s Sobek,’ she said.

‘Which means we now have a direct link between Gifford and the crimes. There’s no way that this is some fluky cosmic coincidence. When you hear quacking, there’s going to be a duck in the vicinity.’

‘I should call Freeman.’

‘Yes you should, but you’re not going to, so let’s not waste time going down that route.’ Possible scenarios were rushing through Winter’s head at the speed of electricity, neurons sparking and firing and lighting up bright. ‘This is a game-changer. We could be about to go head-to-head with a serial killer. I’d rather not do that unarmed. Given Canada’s stringent weapons laws, this is a bit of a long shot, but have you got a gun stashed in the trunk? Two would be better. That way you could have one, too.’

‘No guns, but look under your seat.’

Winter leant forward and felt around beneath his seat. His fingertips touched tape, then something plastic. He gave the mystery object a tug and it came away with a sticky tearing sound. It turned out to be a standard police-issue taser. Anderton glanced over.

‘For emergencies,’ she said.

‘I don’t suppose you’ve got another one tucked away under your seat?’

‘Sorry. And just so we’re clear, that’s mine.’

Thirty seconds later Anderton turned into a quiet, narrow lane and pulled over to the kerb. The house they wanted was thirty yards further on. It was a tidy-looking property with a small fenced yard out back. Three bedrooms, maybe four at a push, but the fourth would be tiny. The clapboard was painted dark brown, making the house appear gloomy and dark. It was almost as if it was trying not to be seen.

Anderton held out a hand and Winter reluctantly handed her the taser. They got out and walked along the narrow strip of sidewalk toward the house. Most of the neighbouring properties appeared empty, the residents no doubt at work. They passed an elderly woman who was tending the flower beds in her front yard. She wished them a cheery good morning as they passed by, then pretended to go back to her gardening. Winter could sense her eyes following them all the way to Gifford’s front door.

The house appeared to be as empty as those around it. There were no lights on, but given that it was daytime that didn’t necessarily mean anything. The empty parking slot in front of the house was more telling. Gifford advertised that he travelled to his clients, so it was a safe bet that he owned a vehicle. There was no driveway or garage, so the front of the house would be the logical place to keep it. If he was at home.

Anderton knocked and they waited. The day was still and quiet. There was no breeze to carry the sound or stir the trees. Today’s weather was as perfect as yesterday’s, the sun burning bright and hot against a hazy blue sky. As the day progressed, the haze would melt away and the mercury would rise. Way off in the distance, an airliner was coming in to land at the airport. Anderton knocked again, half-heartedly, like she was going through the motions. She’d clearly reached the same conclusion about no one being home.

There were two locks on the door. A Yale and a five-lever mortice. The Yale didn’t pose much of a problem, but the deadbolt was a challenge. In the end it took Winter almost a minute and a half to pick them both. Anderton had positioned herself so the old woman wouldn’t see what they were up to. She seemed to be absorbed in her gardening, but Winter still had the impression that she was watching them. He pushed the door open. Before he could say anything, Anderton had the taser out and was already stepping inside.