Made to Be Broken

Chapter Sixteen

"Got some kind of message," Jack said when I returned after the bonfire. "Popped up on your screen. From 'back-doorman.' "

"Oh, that's – "

"Quinn. Yeah. Figured that out."

Last fall, in coming up with online names, that's what Quinn had picked – a private joke. I didn't think Jack had been paying attention, but I guessed I should have known better. Nothing escaped him.

"Did you, uh, respond…"

"Didn't know how."

Which was probably a good thing. Jack may have invited Quinn on the job last year, but only because he needed his contacts. Jack thought Quinn was too brash, too fervent, too open. Quinn found exactly the opposite faults with Jack – too somber, too cold, too secretive. The only thing they agreed on was that the other could be trusted and was good at his job… as long as he did that job someplace else, with someone else.

"So you gonna tell me? About that job?"

"Job? Oh right, the Toronto one I did with him. Give me a minute and we'll go outside. I just want to pop him a note."

I motioned for him to sit on the bed as I checked my e-mail. There was one from Quinn. I started a brief response. Then my messenger pinged. Quinn, noticing I was still online and trying again. I answered, planning to say I had to run, but he asked if I'd seen the latest on the "rapist killer" case and I said I hadn't and… the conversation snowballed from there. After about five minutes, Jack stood and cleared his throat.

"I'll be outside," he said.

"Hold on. I just – "

"No rush."

The door closed behind him.

Jack's online search had gone better than mine. He'd substituted missing for homicide, looking for cases of young women who'd disappeared with their babies. He'd had to wade through lots of custody disputes and suspected homicides, where the infant had likely been killed, intentionally or through abuse, then the body hidden and never recovered. Once the chaff was removed, he was left with three cases.

I took the names and searched. One case ended tragically, with a newspaper article revealing that mother and child had been found in a river – an apparent suicide brought on by postpartum depression. In the second, six months after disappearing, the mother showed up at a homeless shelter, then took off in the middle of the night, abandoning her baby. That left me with Deanna Macy

I found multiple listings for her on missing-persons Web sites, but no resolution, happy or otherwise. With her dark hair and eyes, she was the physical opposite of Sammi, but like Sammi, Deanna Macy was a startlingly beautiful young woman. Coincidence?

I scanned through the details. Sixteen years old. Last known residence: a home for teen mothers, indicating little or no family support. The home was in Detroit – she'd been listed on Canadian sites in case she'd crossed the border.

At the time of her disappearance, her baby, Connor, had been a few weeks younger than Destiny. One evening Deanna and Connor had been taking the bus to see a friend. They never arrived. According to the bus driver, they'd never got on. The police were treating the case as a runaway, but the woman who'd notified the police was convinced otherwise.

The contact was Denise Noyes, with a Detroit-area phone number. From her emotional pleas, Noyes had to be a friend or family member. I didn't want to make this call from the lodge, so I'd do it tomorrow, when I was in town to see Tess.

Saturday started at 6 a.m. with my jog. The Previls had signed up, and while I was tempted to say, "I knocked and no one answered," I had to do my job – so I knocked… lightly. They answered. And they made their wives join us to share in a "romantic country run," which I'm sure would have been far more romantic if the guys hadn't spent the time commenting on my "form" and making indiscreet inquiries into the state of my romantic life.

After breakfast, I decided to get the biggest chore of the day over with – taking them shooting. Again, they joked all the way through my lesson, so I gave up. I couldn't keep stalling, but I could make sure we stayed on the inside range and only one gun was in play, as they took turns under my supervision.

I took a paper target from the bin.

"A bull's-eye?" one of the brothers – Ben – said. "Where are the people? Like what they use in the movies?"

"Sorry, I don't allow human-form targets unless you're a cop or someone who might need to shoot in the line of duty."

"And only if a perp does something dangerous, right?" said Ken, the other brother. "Like reaching for a tissue."

I'd shot Wayne Franco when he made the mistake of reaching for a tissue. It was a small detail, one people could hardly be expected to remember if they'd casually heard it seven years later. In other words, the Previls had looked up my story before coming to the lodge. Nice. It was nothing new, though, and while most people pretended not to remember who I was and what I'd done, I'd learned to deal with those who weren't so polite. As the twins guffawed over their joke, my expression didn't change.

"The bull's-eye is better for accuracy testing," I said as I wheeled it down the line.

"We want the paper men."

I clenched my teeth without tightening my lips, forced a bright hostess smile, and said, "Okay, then. But I'll warn you, the plain black-and-white can be harder to see."

They stood back, giggling and whispering like teenage girls as I set up the target.

"Who wants to go first?"

"You. Show us how it's done."

I nodded, picked up the gun, stepped to the boards -

"Pop him right between the eyes," Ben said. "That's your specialty, isn't it?"

I turned slowly. The twins and their old friend were grinning. Their business associate pretended not to hear, absorbed by my first-aid poster.

"Come on," Ben said. "Between the eyes. Show us how it's done."

"You volunteering?" grunted a voice from behind them. Jack hobbled from the shadows and jerked his chin at Ben. "Go on. Show your friends how it's done."

After a full chamber – with only two nicks in the edge of the target – Ben complained I'd put it too far away. When Jack gave a derisive snort, the brother challenged him to try it. Jack eyed the gun as if it was a snake that might bite, then, after some ribbing, let me reload it, and took it awkwardly.

"Is there a safety or something?" he asked.

"It's a Glock. They don't have one."

"Huh."

He took one shot and missed the target completely, to the laughter of the brothers and their friend.

"Hold on," Jack said when Ben reached for the gun. "I'm getting the hang of it."

He took three shots, putting a perfect triangle through the target's heart. Then he passed the gun to Ken. When all four had had a chance to be humiliated by the "porter," they decided marksmanship wasn't really their thing.

"Done here?" Jack said to me as the men clustered, grumbling, near the door.

"Seems so." I fingered the hole where the target's heart would have been. "He's definitely done. Damned fine shooting."

Jack shrugged. "Close range. Good gun. Anyway…" He raised his voice, accent changing as he stretched his words into full sentences. "I need a lift into town, to pick up a prescription. I was hoping we could do that before lunch."

The men stopped and turned our way.

"What does she look like, a taxi service?" one said.

"No, that's fine," I said. "No taxis or delivery services around here, so I'd be happy to run you into town – "

"The hell you will," Ben said, advancing on us. "We have rappelling scheduled for – "

I didn't see the look Jack gave him, but it was enough to shut him up mid-sentence.

"There's been a change of plans," Jack said. "You're going rappelling later this afternoon."

"What the hell?" Ken said, staying where he was, willing to join his brother in voice but not in body.

I caught a glimpse of Jack's expression. There was no menace in it. Not much of anything really, just that steady, piercing stare. It was enough.

"You can't change our plans," the friend said, voice taking on a whine.

"I didn't. Your wives did. I was talking to them this morning, showing them brochures Nadia has for some art studios in the area…"

"Oh, shit," one brother breathed.

"Seems they want an arts-and-crafts tour, so they told Emma to reschedule the rappelling for after lunch." Jack's lips pursed, musing. "Or maybe not. They were saying something about checking out a bistro way over in Haliburton if it didn't look like you'd be done with the tour before lunch…"

The men were gone almost before he could finish.

I grinned at him. "I owe you."

"Fucking assholes. Shouldn't have to deal with that."

"It's part of the job," I said as I locked the equipment closet.

"They get worse? I'll take care of them. Got lots of woods. Never find the bodies."

When I pulled into the liquor store parking lot, Jack mumbled something about grabbing a newspaper and hanging out in the diner. I could find him there when I was done.

Tess was unloading stock. At seventeen, she was too young to work at the liquor store, but, since she wasn't at the till, potentially selling to her underage friends, no one complained.

The moment she saw me, she disappeared out the back door. I bought a token bottle of wine and followed her.

Tess hovered at the building corner, waiting. She waved me behind the building.

"What have you found out?" she asked.

"Nothing yet."

Those two words snuffed out the light in her eyes. "Oh, I thought maybe…" She shrugged and let the sentence drift off.

"I'm still looking. I'm thinking maybe she did go visit that photographer in Toronto."

Tess's chin jerked up, eyes glowing again. Guilt shot through me. It was wrong to let her think her friend was still alive, but I didn't have a choice.

"Did she know this photographer's name?" I asked. "Or the name of the company he worked for?"

"No, but she said he worked in Toronto and…" Tess paused. "Maybe you should take notes."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry." I patted my pockets. In my business, you learn not to write anything down. I gave a wry smile. "Guess I'm not too prepared. Do you have -?"

Before I could finish, Tess darted through the rear door. A moment later she emerged, pencil and paper in hand.

"Okay. So he was from Toronto. He worked for a modeling agency that specializes in kids. For advertisements, she said. TV and magazines. She said he looked like a photographer. Like the guys in the AV club at school."

"A geek"

"Right. She didn't say anything specific, though. Oh, except that he didn't wear glasses. Like a grown-up AV guy, but without glasses. All the guys in our AV club wear glasses."

With each new bit of information, Tess grew more animated, excited to finally be able to help. As another pang of guilt shot through me, I told myself I was helping Sammi. Just not in the way Tess expected.

"She said he took a bunch of pictures of Destiny, plus two shots of Sammi holding her." Tess looked up at me. "Do you think that's important?"

"It might be. Everything you can tell me might be."

"He said Destiny was a beautiful baby. Just like her mom. I remember that because I asked Sammi if she thought he was hitting on her. She said no way, he was – oh, right, I forgot this. It might help. She said he was at least thirty. Old." Tess glanced at me and colored. "Uh, you know, old for her. Not, like, old in general."

"Trust me, some days, over thirty feels very old."

"That might help, right? An age? She said he didn't seem interested in her at all. I thought that was weird. Guys are always checking Sammi out. Even the old – older ones."

"So he didn't check her out? Or Sammi just didn't notice?"

"Oh, Sammi always noticed. But this guy was only interested in Destiny and he was all business, not even sneaking a look down Sammi's top when she leaned over. I guess that was good, huh? Not some pervert with a camera."

"Probably not."

Tess nibbled at a hangnail, then shook her head. "That's it. That's all she said. Just that one short conver sation."

"It gives me a place to start," I said. "You have a good memory."

"Yeah? Well, if it helps…" She went quiet, the momentary excitement draining away. "You think she's okay?"

"I – I don't know, Tess."

She nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. "Well, okay, then. If there's anything more I can do…"

"I'll let you know."

She stepped away, then turned sharply. "I'll be off for lunch in a few minutes. I could show you where she met the guy. The exact spot in the park. You used to be a cop, right? Maybe you could take fingerprints or something."

"Um, sure."

"Meet you there in ten minutes?"

I nodded and Tess walked back into the store, her step a little lighter. Of course, I couldn't take fingerprints. Any evidence would have vanished, washed away by rain or obliterated by other park users. But it would make Tess feel better.