Rick Mofina - Full Tilt

“In Rampart?” Brennan asked.

Delmar shook his head. “Didn’t say, but he sure was feeling good about things, you just saw it on his face and stuff.”

“Then that was it,” Reggie said. “We never saw J.C. after that.”

Brennan and Dickson shared their theories on the case on the long drive back to Rampart.

“What do you think, Ed? Nelson was making bondage, porn movies at the barn, maybe invited Pollard to take part?”

“Maybe, but look again at what his note said.”

Dickson read it aloud. “‘I only wanted someone to love in my life. It’s better to end everyone’s pain. God forgive me for what I’ve done. Carl Nelson.’ Okay, so something else was going on. Where does Pollard fit?”

“We need to get warrants on Nelson’s house, his bank records, credit card and his computer.”

“Wait, how did Nelson use Pollard?”

“Look at their physical particulars, both are white males, both are six feet tall. Nelson’s in his forties and Pollard’s thirty-nine, almost the same age and both have the same body type.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I think Nelson selected Pollard to stage his own suicide.”

Calgary, Alberta

The Southern Alberta District headquarters for the RCMP’s K Division in northeast Calgary was housed in a glass-and-brick building overlooking Deerfoot Trail, the city’s major expressway.

Thankfully, it was also near the airport, Kate thought as she wheeled her rented Toyota into the parking lot.

Kate had arranged to meet a Corporal Jared Fortin at 9:00 a.m. to discuss Tara Dawn Mae’s disappearance and Vanessa’s case.

She had ten minutes before her meeting and checked her phone for messages. Nothing new. Smiling at her daughter’s face, she remembered what Grace had said before giving her a million hugs goodbye yesterday.

“I hope you find out what happened to Aunt Vanessa, Mom.”

Kate entered the building and went to the front desk.

“I’m Kate Page. I have an appointment with Corporal Jared Fortin, who I believe is with Major Crimes.”

“Yes, one moment, please.”

As the receptionist’s keyboard clicked, Kate looked at the wall map behind her. The Southern Alberta District had more than thirty detachments and covered everything in the southern region of the province west of Calgary to British Columbia, east to Saskatchewan and south to Montana, an area larger than most states.

The receptionist stopped and looked at Kate.

“Kate Page, from New York City?”

“Yes.”

“Did Corporal Fortin not contact you about today?”

“No. Is there a problem?”

The woman resumed concentrating on her monitor, then, finding something, her expression changed, indicating all was well.

“No, it’s fine. Sorry.” She then requested Kate exchange two pieces of photo ID for a visitor’s badge and her signature on a sign-in sheet. “Thank you. Please have a seat. Someone will be right with you.”

Kate went to the waiting area, wondering if the receptionist had inadvertently signaled a problem. She sat in a chair and glanced at the spread of magazines on the table. Something was up. She took out her phone. She hadn’t received any new messages. She scrolled through news sites out of Rampart, scanning stories for any updates.

She’d found nothing new.

“Ms. Page?”

A man in a dark blue suit had materialized. He was about six feet tall with a solid build, short brown hair and thick mustache. He looked to be in his late forties.

“Staff Sergeant Ian Owen.” He extended his hand. “I’m Corporal Fortin’s supervisor. Right this way.”

He led her to his office. Through the large windows Kate saw jets approaching the airport. Sergeant Owen directed her to a chair before his desk.

“Can I get you a coffee or anything?”

“No, thank you. I’m fine.”

Owen sat, took up his pen and leaned forward, staring at it for a moment.

“Ms. Page, I’ll come to the point. I know why you’re here. Unfortunately, there’s not much we can do to help you.”

“But Corporal Fortin assured me he was willing to discuss my sister’s case and the cold case of Tara Dawn Mae.”

“He explained your call to me. All I can say is that we’re supporting an active investigation in another jurisdiction.”

“But the case in Rampart, New York, and the case in Brooks, Alberta, are linked and there’s every possibility they’re linked to my sister.”

“I understand, and I can only imagine how terrible this sounds to you, especially after you’ve traveled here from New York.”

As Kate’s heart sank, she grew angry. Angry at herself for believing police here would help her when, in the back of her mind, she knew cops were all the same. As her resentment rose she realized what had happened.

“You’ve been talking to Ed Brennan about me, haven’t you?”

“As I said, we’re supporting another jurisdiction in an ongoing investigation.”

“I got that. Forgive me for being blunt, Staff Sergeant, but I’m not an idiot. Let me give you some context, which I’m sure you know from talking to Rampart. Ed Brennan called me, requesting my help. He asked me to bring my necklace to him so he could compare it to one found at his scene, which resembles my sister’s necklace.”

Owen said nothing, letting Kate continue.

“At the same time, there’s evidence at the Rampart scene that’s tied to the disappearance of Tara Dawn Mae, which is in your yard. Now, here we sit, some one hundred and fifty miles from where I lost my sister in the Kicking Horse River.”

“That was twenty years ago near Golden, BC. That’s E Division’s jurisdiction.”

“Stop, stop this bureaucratic police bull, please! I was underwater in that river when our car crashed into it. I held my sister’s hand-”

“Ms. Page, I understand but-”

“No, I’m sorry, you don’t understand. For twenty years I’ve lived with being told my sister was dead. But her body was never found and I’ve refused to give up hoping that she’d somehow survived. And now her necklace surfaces at a murder scene in New York with a link to the cold case of a missing girl from your jurisdiction. I’ve cooperated with you guys. I’ve given you my necklace, my DNA, yet you, just like Brennan, throw up your hands with the I can’t discuss the case, it’s an ongoing investigation when we all know that it’s the ghost of my sister that’s tying this all together for you!”

Owen repositioned his pen as his jawline pulsed.

“Since we’re being blunt, allow me to give you a little context, Ms. Page. It’s my understanding that you have charges pending against you in Rampart for trespassing on a crime scene, possibly tampering or planting evidence?”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I did not tamper or plant evidence.”

Owen leaned forward.

“That may be, but given your personal stake, a good defense attorney could easily create the perception in court that you did, and destroy a case, allowing someone guilty to go free. Now how do you think that would sit with the family of Bethany Ann Wynn?”

Kate let out a long, tense breath and glanced at the 747 approaching the airport.

“Ms. Page, I’m sure you can appreciate that it’s critical for investigators not to risk weakening an iota of the case so that it will remain solid when it comes to prosecuting it.”

Kate said nothing, letting a few moments pass.

“I think it’d be best if you let us do our job.” Owen stood to conclude the meeting. “Give me your contact information and if there are any developments that I can share with you, I give you my word, I will.”