Final Act by Dianne Yetman (best free ebook reader .TXT) 📕

On the main level of the hospital, Withers looked with disbelief at the ensuing chaos.  People were streaming in and out of emergency, the uninjured looking for the injured; the walking injured heading towards the exit, cuts and bruises visible on their tired, swollen faces.  He spotted patrolman Tom Sweeney talking with one of the ambulance attendants and headed in their direction.

“What’s going on Tom?”

Tom filled him in on the bus accident.  “Fifteen people seriously injured; thirty-five or more with minor injuries, and one fatality, the driver.  It happened just before rush hour.  An hour later, we would have been looking at more than one dead body.”

He thanked him and headed towards the elevators.  Fifteen minutes later, he entered the main lobby, exited the front doors, making his way to where he had parked, weaving through the glut of cars scattered in front of the hospital entrance.  Two police officers were directing approaching cars away from the main entrance towards the lower parking lots. He nodded at them and continued on to the end of the lot adjacent to one of the side streets.  He saw the back of a woman standing in the bus shelter; she was swaying back and forth.  He made his way over, his jaw dropping when he saw who it was.

“June, are you alright,” he asked.

She tried a smile but swelling had distorted her lips.

“I’m better than a lot of others,” she said.

“Wait here,” he said, “I’ll bring the car around and give you a ride home.  The last thing you need right now is to get on another bus.”

“Well, you know what they say about getting back up on the horse again...” her voice trailing off.

Withers didn’t hear her response, he was already halfway across the lot; his pace, like his heart rate, rapid.  He longed to caress the scrapes and bruises on the beautiful face, to kiss her eyelids, stroke her hair. Get yourself under control before you make a fool of yourself.  He jumped in the car, put it in gear and headed to the bus stop.

He watched as she tried to conceal her pain in what seemed to take an endless amount of time before she was seated in the car.

“Did they give you anything for the pain?”

“Yes, they did but I haven’t taken it yet.  I wanted to wait until I was home.”

“Where do you live?”  He knew the area and was relieved not to have to ask her for directions.  It had to be painful to squeeze words past those swollen lips.  They travelled the rest of the way in silence.

Soon after turning onto Young Street, he spotted the house.  It was a two story, 1950’s over and under prefab flanked by a row of small businesses – an antique shop, a small bistro, and a hardware store.  On the upper level of the building, a black and white sign read that June’s Beauty Salon, creaked back and forth in the gentle wind.

Reaching for the door handle, a heart breaking crooked smile on her face, June thanked him for the drive.

“I’ll help you up the stairs”, he said.

He eased her out of the car, slipped his hand under her elbow and led her towards the side door entrance.  Her hand shook as she unlocked the door.  A dim overhead light threw shadows on the narrow, steep stairway.  They climbed slowly. The door at the top of the stairs opened into a hallway.  June invited him in for a cup of tea but he declined knowing it was a polite gesture only. As he turned to go, he felt her hand on his arm, then her bruised swollen lips brushing the side of his face.

“Thanks,” she whispered.

He mumbled goodbye and ran down the steps, got in his car and sped away, the brush of those swollen lips burning his face.

***

The entire Incident Team, grim faced, tired looking, many of whom had only managed a few hours sleep before returning to the precinct, gathered in the main boardroom for the debrief.

“This was no break and enter”, Gordon said.  “No forced entry, valuables untouched.  The killer came knocking and Catherine let him or her in.”

Tell us something we don’t know, Kate thought.

“The hospital has released the body to the Coroner.  I spoke with George and asked him to get back to us as soon as possible. We’re looking at the same killer so Catherine was probably drugged before the killer attacked with fists and knife.”

“We have overkill.  Raises the question, do we have the same killer”, Withers said.

“Of course we do.  The killer is escalating”, Kate said.

“I don’t know”, Shirley said.  “Catherine was reportedly a tolerant, long-suffering faithful wife and mother.  There’s not one hint of impropriety about this woman from cast, crew, and friends.”

“Sometimes things aren’t as they seem, Shirley.  We have the fact of her excessive drug use.  In my opinion, it wasn’t being used just for ‘grief relief’.  I think she knew something and that something got her killed.  It was personal.  Her death is linked to the others, no doubt in my mind”, Kate said.

“Nora said she had stopped taking any drugs after Stone’s funeral”, Shirley said.

“Yes.  The question is why?  Did she want a clear head if the killer confronted her? She fought back, you know.  Defence wounds on her hands, crud under the fingernails.”

“Maybe she’s known from the beginning”, Withers said.  “Stone was a mess; maybe she pressured him to tell her what was going on.”

“Makes sense”, Gordon said.

Kate drew a breath.  “I think a woman’s behind the killing.  The murder weapons – poison, drugs are typically the ones used by a female.  Maybe we should bring in the RCMP.  Get a profile worked up.  We’re up against it, three killings in less than a month.  What do we have to lose?”

“Plenty - public panic, newspaper feeding frenzy, for starters”, Gordon said.

“We can’t control how people will react.  Our responsibility is to stop the killer.”

“I know