Woman Chased by Crows by Marc Strange Read Free Book Online Page B

it.

    At first glance they seemed an unlikely pair — Stacy: cool, stylish, athletic; Adele: gangly, fiery, herky-jerky, no discernible fashion sense whatsoever. Adele wore basic black cop shoes, crepe soles, possibly steel-toed. Anyone getting a kick in the shins would know about it. Stacy preferred high boots and jeans with a bit of stretch. Stacy had black belts in three disciplines. She kicked higher than shins. Orwell was pleased with his matchmaking. He gave himself a reflex chastisement —
there you go again, being Big Daddy
— but it didn’t diminish his pleasure in looking at the two women standing in front of him. A hawk and a heron. Both alert, fully engaged in what they did best.
    â€œSit down, detectives. What have you got?”
    Stacy started. “Del thinks Delisle was up here seeing a woman.”
    â€œOr he found one when he got here,” Adele said. “He moved pretty fast.”
    â€œThere was definitely sex involved,” Stacy said. “Maybe a married woman. Somebody he was careful didn’t get spotted.”
    â€œWe checked with the guys about the dance teacher.” Adele consulted her notes. “Home alone, from 21:30 on. Her only confirmation is the cab driver who took her home, and he’s taking the week off. Cab company says he went to Guelph to see his sister. They’re trying to track him down.”
    â€œAnya Daniel have a car?” Orwell asked.
    â€œNo, Chief,” Stacy said.
    â€œLives where?”
    â€œBehind the hospital. River Street.”
    â€œHis car was still in the parking lot, right?”
    â€œYes, sir. They checked it out. No evidence anyone else was in it.”
    â€œTo get to the motel and back she’d need a ride. How’d she get back?”
    â€œWe figure he hooked up,” Adele said. “Wouldn’t be the first time. Someone with their own car.”
    â€œAnd if it was a spur-of-the-moment thing they might have had a drink somewhere,” Orwell threw in.
    â€œDr. Ruth says he left her office around four,” said Stacy. “Didn’t see him again, but . . .”
    A sharp knock on the door. “Come ahead,” Orwell said.
    Dutch Scheider half-opened the door, took brief note of the two detectives. “The Metro guys want to take me back to the motel,” he said. “Walk me around back or something.”
    â€œSounds sinister,” said Orwell.
    â€œThat’s how we do it downtown,” said Adele.
    â€œWell, we’ll know where to start the search if you turn up missing,” Orwell said. “Wait a sec. Tell me, Dutch, if you were going to have a drink and didn’t want it to become public knowledge, with a married woman, say, where would you go?”
    â€œNever given it much thought, Chief, seeing as how my loving wife would strangle me with my own shorts.”
    â€œSure sure, I know, but think about it for a minute. Is there any place within driving distance where you’d feel reasonably safe?”
    â€œNot in this town. Maybe Omemee. There’s a nice little place just opened. Lemongrass, I think it’s called. Supposed to be good. And there’s that Italian place in Port Perry. Couple of places there, come to think of it.”
    â€œThanks, Dutch. Off you go. Take your own car. Stay in touch.”
    â€œWill do, Chief.” He looked back. “I’d start with the Omemee place,” he said.
    Orwell turned to the detectives. “Why don’t you two take a drive over there and see if anyone had a discreet rendezvous late last night.”

    It was one thing to be cool in front of policemen, she was good at that. It was better to be resolute and unafraid with them, they were like dogs, if you cowered they bit you. Alone was different. After she locked the studio door she started to shake. Why would they kill him? Because of her? Her hand was trembling, holding the cordless phone while she paced the wooden