Crime Machine by Giles Blunt Read Free Book Online Page A

not,” Chouinard said. “But that’s damn fine scene work.”
    “Of course, we don’t know for sure what relationship the runner has to the others,” Cardinal said. “Intended victim? Fellow perp in a scenario that went bad? We’re still trying to piece together what happened inside the house. Today’s agenda is almost totally Ident: they prepare fibres, blood and hairs, and I’ll take them down to T.O. later in the day. Delorme, you can come with me. In the meantime, you can track down the Schumachers, and I’ll get to work on ViCLAS.”
    —
    Delorme drove over to the Schumachers’ town residence on McGibbon Street. This was a good neighbourhood of old houses and neat lawns. Delorme had been through it a lot recently, because one of her ATM robberies had taken place just around the corner. And late last night she hadshoved her card through the Schumachers’ mail slot, noting that there were no footprints around their house and no car in the drive. The house was a large red-brick Edwardian, nicely restored and maintained. Now there was a late-model Lexus in the driveway.
    She knocked on the front door. It took a while, but a man eventually opened it. He looked about seventy-five, with a badly sunburned face. “Yes? Can I help you?”
    Delorme identified herself and asked if he was Joseph Schumacher and if he owned the house at the end of Island Road.
    “Yes,” he said. “That’s me.”
    “Were you away yesterday, sir?”
    “Yes, we were on a cruise round the Mediterranean. Just got back to Toronto last night. Flew back from there and just got in”—he looked at his watch, then back to Delorme—“half an hour ago.”
    “Did you find the card we put through your mail slot?”
    “Haven’t had a chance to look. I just tossed all the mail on the kitchen counter.”
    A woman appeared on the staircase behind him. “What’s going on, Joseph? Why are you standing there with the door open?”
    “This young lady’s from the police. Wants to ask us some questions. See, I told you we should never have joined the Hells Angels, but no, you had your own ideas.”
    “Mr. Schumacher, maybe we could sit down for a couple of minutes. It seems you haven’t heard the news, and I’m afraid I have something bad to tell you.”
    “What do you mean?” Mrs. Schumacher said. “Has there been an accident? This isn’t about our son, is it? His family? No, surely we’d get a phone call—”
    “I don’t think it concerns your son,” Delorme said.
    “Well, you’d better come into the kitchen.”
    They went in and pulled out chairs from the Formica table and all three of them sat down.
    “Who has keys to your house on the lake?” Delorme asked.
    “Just us,” Mr. Schumacher said. “We each have a key. Far as I know, we’re the only …”
    “The only ones,” his wife said. “We’re the only ones with keys.”
    “And have you lent the house to anyone recently? Or rented it out?”
    “No, we don’t rent it out,” Mr. Schumacher said. “No one even goes out there unless …”
    “Unless we’re there,” Mrs. Schumacher said. She completed her husband’s sentences almost as if it were an act they had rehearsed together.
    “Well, people went out there,” Delorme said. “We’re not sure when exactly, but within the past two days at least three people were in your house. Two of them ended up dead.”
    The Schumachers looked at each other. They looked back at Delorme. Finally Mr. Schumacher said, “You’re telling us people were murdered out in our lake house?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    The Schumachers turned to each other again.
    “I don’t know what to say,” the man said. “We’ve—this is—we lead ordinary lives. There’s never been any …”
    “Discord,” the woman said. “No discord.”
    “But you have to tell us,” Mr. Schumacher said. “Who are these …”
    “People. Victims.”
    “We don’t know,” Delorme said. “We were hoping you might be able to help.”
    “But we need