Cut to the Quick by Joan Boswell Read Free Book Online

“Is this the room’s single photo because he loved his brother, or because it was the only child’s photograph he could legitimately display?”
    â€œIt’s horrible when you have to ask questions like that. It’s a wonder all cops aren’t total cynics,” Rhona said.
    Heavy cookbooks and photo albums crammed particle board bookshelves that sagged under their weight. Ivan had filed hundreds of recipes in photo album pockets intended for 4x6 pictures. This storage system was new to Rhona. If she ever found time to cook in a serious way, she’d remember.
    In one album, she found a card with fellow students’ names and phone numbers. She’d faxed George Brown earlier for class lists. “We need his cell phone number to check his calls,” Rhona said, showing the card to Zee Zee, who stood at Ivan’s desk sorting through the papers in the file drawer.
    â€œHe designated one for bills.” Zee Zee extracted a red folder and thumbed through it. “Here they are. We’ll go back a couple of months and track them. Wasn’t he a tidy young man? I wish I kept my records in such good order.” She straightened up and allowed her glance to sweep the room. “If his computer isn’t here and isn’t at his mother’s, where is it?”
    â€œAt his mother’s, I wondered about child pornography.
    Maybe that’s why he locked the door. Maybe when he figured she was reading his email, he took his computer and left home?”
    â€œI had the same thought. It might provide motivation for his murder. We’ll run his name through the records in the sex crimes unit.”
    â€œWe have to find the computer. Before we leave here, we’ll see if anyone can tell us.”
    Rhona waved the card listing students’ names. “Some students may come to the visitations or attend the funeral— we’ll talk to them.” She considered the card. “In the meantime, we’ll match names with phone numbers and call the ones he spoke to most frequently.”
    * * *
    â€œAbsolutely no idea,” Curt said when asked about the computer’s whereabouts as they were leaving.
    They talked outside as they headed for the car. “We have a lot to check—Ivan’s mystery life, Curt’s enemies—the list grows ever longer,” Rhona said.
    â€œNot much we can do about Ivan’s life tonight. If SOHD ’s opponents are the same people as the anti-abortionists, I’ve run into them before. They allegedly murdered an abortion clinic doctor. I say allegedly, because the police never pinned it on them—the killing remains unsolved. If it’s the same lot, we shouldn’t underestimate them—those men and women are dangerous. As for Arthur White...” Zee Zee’s voice trailed off.
    â€œShould we talk to him tonight?”
    â€œWhy not? It’s not late. Our appearance on his doorstep may unsettle him enough that he unintentionally reveals something. I’ll interview. I knew him years ago in my other life.”
    Rhona found a parking spot close to Arthur White’s apartment, a low rise near the intersection of St. Clair Avenue and Yonge Street. Ten thirty. It took a second and then a third push on the bell before a squeaky voice responded and buzzed them inside.
    The elevator, shabby but clean, smelled like dogs, incontinent dogs. On the fifth floor, dim light and threadbare stained carpeting left an impression of genteel poverty. Halfway down the hall, a diminutive man with a halo of white curls awaited them. They followed him into a half-furnished apartment. Lighter coloured spaces on the wallpaper indicated where paintings had hung. In the living room, two upholstered chairs huddled on the bare floor. A darker wood rectangle in the room’s centre acted like the carpet that must once have been there.
    â€œShe took everything that belonged to her family, and half the things we’d