Kelley Armstrong - Made to Be Broken

"Let's just say Janie's relationship with our organization isn't as far in the past as she led you to believe."

"That bitch! That cold, sneaky bitch. She was holding out on me. Said she didn't have any money coming in, but she did, didn't she? She was working for you guys."

"If she was, you can see how her untimely death might cause us some concern."

"I didn't have nothing to do with – "

This time it was the swish of a switchblade that cut Weston short. His head jerked up, turning wildly, as if he could see through the blindfold.

"What's – " he began.

Jack bent and pressed the knife tip into the back of his neck.

"Hey!"

Jack dug it in farther. "Feel that?"

"Y-yes."

"Know what happens if I go another half inch?"

"N-no."

"You'll be paralyzed."

"P-par – "

"Not permanently. Just for a day or so. Full paralysis, though. Won't be able to move a muscle." A pause. "Do you know what lives in these woods? Black bears, wild dogs, coyotes, maybe even a wolf or two, wandered on down from Algonquin. Plus you've got your smaller predators like martens, weasels, rats, and the birds – the hawks and the vultures. Normally, humans are too big a challenge, but if you've got a few nice cuts leaking blood, and you're just lying there, not moving, they'll take a nibble. They won't bother killing you first. They'll just feed, while you lie there, unable to move, blink, scream…"

"I killed Janie, but it was an accident. I just got so mad at her, holding back, that I went a little nuts. I started whaling on her, and next thing I know, she's dead."

"Holding back. You mean she wouldn't give you her share from a job?"

He squirmed. "Well, no, it wasn't a job, so it wasn't really my share, but it'd been my idea. So I was entitled to a little advance, right?"

"So where'd the money come from if it wasn't a job?"

"From the house."

"Selling the house?"

"Right."

"That was your idea?"

"Right. With that kid of hers gone, Janie kept moaning about how she wouldn't have any money coming in. She didn't have a job… or so she said, though I guess she forgot about working for you. The bitch."

"The house…?"

"I said she should sell the place to that real estate guy who keeps bugging her, then move in with me. It was my idea, so I thought she should give me a little cash, you know, as a thank-you."

Jack glanced back at me. For a moment, I couldn't respond, seeing my theory – my only theory – shatter around me. Then I motioned for Jack to push, but didn't need to – he'd already returned to Weston.

"What do you know about Sammi Ernst's disappearance?"

"The girl pissed off. Left her mom in the lurch. Un grate ful brat."

Jack pressed harder, but it was clear Weston knew nothing of Sammi's fate and, apparently, neither had Janie, who'd been scrambling to make up for the lack of rent money.

"So you went to ask for a few bucks, had a drink, got into a fight, and accidentally killed her."

"Exactly. I swear that's how – "

"I believe you."

Weston slumped. "Thank God."

"And now you're going to take that story to the cops."

"What?"

Jack leaned down, knife digging in. "You think my employer wants the cops nosing around in Janie Ernst's past?"

"No, but – "

"You said it was an accident. You were drunk. Hell, you were so drunk you took her truck."

"Mine's not running so well," Weston whined.

"Point is, you're looking at manslaughter, tops. Even if you do time, you'll be out before you know it, and back to your life." He bent farther. "Which you aren't going to have if you don't turn yourself in."

Weston audibly swallowed.

Jack twisted the switchblade. "Remember how I said you'd die if you didn't tell me the truth? Well, if you don't tell the cops, you're going to wish I'd killed you."

"O-okay I'll go see them in the morning – "

"You'll see them tonight. If you want manslaughter, you're damned well going to want to prove remorse. And you want to prove you were drunk while the booze is still swimming around your blood. You'll go to them tonight and, as for me, I was never here, right?"

"R-right."

"And just in case you think of running? Remember who you're dealing with. This isn't some pissy local gang. Wherever you go, we'll find you, and when we do, it'll be too late to change your mind."

As Weston babbled promises, Jack tossed Janie's keys into the undergrowth. Then he untied Weston's hands, leaving him to get the blindfold off and his legs freed before he found the keys. That meant we'd have a lengthy head start, which we'd need, considering we had to walk all the way back to town for my truck.

There was no way I was making Jack limp for five kilometers. Of course, I wasn't stupid enough to offer to get the truck – I just waited until we got back on the main road and took off, his muttered curses fading behind me.

When I returned, I drove right past Jack, who'd stepped into the ditch when he saw lights. But I caught his wave through the mirror and turned around.

I took the long way out, circling Bancroft so I wouldn't be seen passing through twice in a few minutes. Not that there was anyone around, but I wasn't taking chances.

"That stuff about paralyzing someone," I said. "It's bullshit."

A faint smile. "Are you sure?"

"Ninety-nine percent."

"Would you risk it?"

"I guess not," I said with a laugh. "I'll have to remember that one. Anyway, about getting him to confess? I hadn't thought of that, but it'll make things much easier if no one comes banging on my door."

"Thought so."

I glanced at him. "Thanks."

A shrug. "Easy enough."

Ten kilometers of dense forest passed in silence, then I said, "So I was wrong again."

"Both of us were. Got the killer right. Just the wrong motive." He rubbed his leg above the cast. "The wrong motive for Janie. Maybe not wrong for Sammi."

"You think someone else killed her to steal Destiny."

He nodded.

At breakfast Sunday, the Previls informed us that they'd require a picnic lunch, served in the lakeside gazebo – preheated, if you please – followed by two more hours of rappelling.

When Emma reminded them of the noon checkout time and offered to make that a lunch to go, they told us to tack on the late-departure charge, because they weren't leaving before five. I could only muster a twinge of pique, as if three days in their company had anesthetized me.

But that didn't stop me from telling Emma to add a late-departure charge plus a fee for the extra rappelling lesson. I couldn't be too hospitable… or they might come back.

While I was tempted to take a run into town to get the "news" on Janie, Jack said it was better if he did that and I stayed clear. He was right, of course.

At lunch, while the Previls and their guests were in the gazebo, I used Jack's phone to try calling the contact number for Deanna Macy, following up on the Detroit girl's disappearance. No answer.

Jack took off after that to get a pack of cigarettes from town. While he was gone, I went online to look up the Fifer Agency. When I didn't find it in Toronto, I widened my search area, but it didn't do any good. Outside the greater Toronto area, you don't find a whole lot of model agencies. There were a couple in Ottawa and a few more in southwestern Ontario, but nothing with a name close to "Fifer."

I pulled up a list of Canadian modeling agencies. Nothing. The site linked to general photography studios, so I tried that. And there I found Pfeiffer Photography Studio, specializing in children.

I clicked on the link to the studio Web site. There was no "Jordan Pfeiffer" listed. No Pfeiffers at all. The agency was owned by a woman named Francis Lang. Working under her were four photographers. One of them was Jordan McDermott.