James Carol: The Quiet Man

‘Hey there, Pascoe. Long time, no see.’

‘You two know each other,’ Winter said.

‘Are you kidding? We go way back. Pascoe retired from the force about five years before I did. We worked some cases together back in the day.’ She turned to Pascoe. ‘How are things looking over there?’

‘All quiet. No sign of Gifford or Delaney. Culver is watching the house at the moment. He’s just a kid but he’s got good instincts and good eyes. There are only two ways to get into Delaney’s house. Either a rear approach via the yard of the house that backs on to hers, or a direct approach straight up her driveway.

‘In that case, you guys can cover the rear and we’ll cover the front. We’ll touch base every thirty minutes.’

‘Of course.’

Winter gave it a second to make sure they were finished. ‘Sobek said you’d have something for me.’

Pascoe reached into his jacket and brought out a small string-tied cloth bag. There was a clunk of metal colliding with metal as he handed it over. Winter untied the string and tipped out the contents. Two Glock 19s landed in his lap. He held one out to Anderton. She looked at it for a second then took it. Winter ejected the clip from his, checked to make sure it was full, then banged it back in. Locked and loaded. Anderton was going through the same checks with hers.

‘I’ll text you when I get back to the car,’ Pascoe said. ‘No point us all being in the street if Gifford turns up. We don’t want to scare him off.’

He got out of the car and walked back the way he’d come. The text arrived two minutes later. Anderton started the car and pulled away from the kerb. She hit the turn lights and cruised gently into the street where Delaney lived. There was no sign of Pascoe’s car. Presumably he’d exited via the other end of the street.

Delaney’s house was two-thirds of the way along. It looked deserted. There were no lights on, and no bright red Pontiac Firebird parked on the driveway. It was compact and tidy, and not quite what Winter had expected. He thought that she’d go for something more showy. Something that made a statement, like the Firebird. Maybe she didn’t spend much time here, or maybe TV journalists didn’t get paid as much as he thought. They were only a five-minute drive from the Global studios, which might explain it. Maybe this was just a handy place for her to hang her hat. Nothing more, nothing less.

Anderton drove past the house and kept going for another hundred yards. She swung in to the kerb and killed the engine. The sightline was good. If anyone approached the house they’d see them. At the same time, they were far enough away not to be noticed. The sun was still up, which wasn’t ideal. This sort of work was best done in the dark, slumped down in your seat and hiding in the shadows.

The sun dropped from the sky at eight forty-five. Bang on schedule. Blue turned to purple and orange, and then there was the inevitable fade to black. The streetlamps winked on at nine. The Mercedes was parked in a dark spot halfway between the two nearest lights. The night sky was clear but there was too much light pollution in this part of Burnaby to see the stars. The moon hung in the north. White, bright and ominous.

Stakeouts drove Winter nuts. They always had done. There was too much hanging around, too much inactivity. The neighbourhood was a quiet one. The whole time they’d been parked here they had seen only two cars. The first had turned into a driveway further on up the street. They’d had to duck down when its headlights washed through the SUV’s interior, but it hadn’t come close enough to cause a problem. The second car had come in from behind them and parked at the kerb near Delaney’s house. For a moment they’d got excited, but it hadn’t been Gifford. They’d watched the driver get out. Watched him walk up to the front door of the house next door to Delaney’s. Watched him let himself in. Watched the house lights go on. Anderton had let out a long sigh. Then they’d gone back to waiting.

Ten o’clock came and went.

Eleven o’clock.

Winter’s phone vibrated at eleven-thirty on the dot. Just like it had done at eleven and ten-thirty, and every thirty minutes before that. Pascoe’s text was one word long and identical to all the others that he’d sent. Clear . Winter’s reply was one word long and identical to all the other replies that he’d sent. Clear .

‘Still thinking fifty-fifty?’ Anderton asked him.

‘He might be aiming to get here in the early hours so he can catch Delaney when she’s sleeping. That’s what he did with Myra Hooper.’

‘And what if Delaney isn’t coming home tonight? What if she’s got a boyfriend and has decided to stay at his place?’

‘If that’s the case then it actually works to our advantage. You were worried about Delaney being put in danger, right? Well, if she’s staying at her boyfriend’s then she’s not going to be in any. And what’s even better is that this won’t affect Gifford’s plans. If he turns up in the early hours and sees all the lights off he’ll assume that she’s in bed, and carry on regardless.’

Anderton took out her cell and searched for a number.

‘Jefferies?’

She nodded then raised a hand for quiet. The call lasted all of ten seconds. She hung up and put the phone away.

‘There’s no sign of Gifford over at the Shangri La,’ she said.

Winter turned and looked toward Delaney’s house. Everything was dark and still. A couple more minutes passed then the rear mirror suddenly filled with light. Winter glanced in the side mirror and saw the silhouette of a Firebird. The car passed into the wash of a streetlamp and he saw that it was red. He could hear the engine, throaty and low-pitched, not quite a roar but not far off it. There were two people in the car. The dark made it impossible to see faces. The shadow-person in the driver’s seat was presumably Delaney. You didn’t own a car like that and let other people drive it. The shadow-person in the passenger seat might have been male, but it was impossible to tell for sure. Her boyfriend, perhaps. Or maybe a girlfriend, if that’s how the wind blew.

The car pulled on to the driveway, the engine died, the headlights went off. The person in the passenger seat got out first. It was still impossible to see a face, but judging by the size and build and the way they moved, this was a male. He was carrying a small overnight bag, so presumably he was planning on staying. The car doors closed with a bang. Delaney got out and led the way. She unlocked the front door and they went inside. A second later the door closed and the street fell quiet again.

‘She’s got her boyfriend with her,’ Anderton said. ‘That could complicate things.’

Winter thought about everything he’d seen in the last thirty seconds and shook his head.

‘That’s not her boyfriend, Anderton. Did you notice how slowly she was driving?’

‘It’s a residential area and it’s getting late. Of course she’s going to be driving slowly.’

‘You’ve clearly never driven a muscle car. Get behind the wheel and it’s like you’re possessed. It’s like slipping into a Stephen King story. You just want to put your foot down and drive everywhere at a hundred miles an hour. That’s exactly what Delaney was doing the first time I saw her driving that car. She braked so hard she left ten-foot tyre marks on the tarmac.’

Anderton thought this over. ‘If that was Gifford, he wasn’t using a gun to coerce her. It’s dark, but I could make out that much.’

‘Guns aren’t his weapon of choice. Bombs are.’

She frowned. ‘This doesn’t fit with his MO. Up until now he’s always gone after his victims in their homes.’

‘He’s devolving. When that happens their behaviour becomes increasingly unpredictable. All bets are off. Think about the way his MO changed with Myra’s murder. Breaking into the house when she was asleep. Approaching Cody in the park. He’s unravelling. That was just the start of it.’