Cambie
Street Headquarters, away from Main Street’s Major Crimes Section.
Despite the time that had passed, not much had changed in the man. Harry was in his late forties, maybe early fifties, and the silvering lines on his light-brown hair were a testament to his
years on the job. The red rash of broken blood vessels that coloured his cheeks made his blue eyes look cold and were framed by a jowly chin and padded cheekbones. He always looked worn thin, and
today he looked especially beaten down.
Harry looked at the examination table. Moved forward. Stared down at the body.
‘Jesus mercy,’ he said.
Striker nodded. ‘You got some information on her?’
Harry said nothing for a moment, then blinked. He looked away from the body on the table. Splayed his hands in frustration. ‘I lost sight of the suspect behind the Starbucks building. With
all the traffic jammed up on the bridge, I just couldn’t get around, Shipwreck. I’m sorry.’
Striker nodded. ‘It was chaos.’
‘Yeah, chaos . . .’ Harry let out a long breath. ‘Listen, I’ll send you my notes through the internal mail. Need a police statement?’
Striker nodded. ‘Mandatory.’
‘Okay.’
The room went quiet; Harry said nothing else. His face took on a deep, despondent look as he stared at the body on the table. ‘Jesus mercy,’ he said one last time. Then he gave
Striker a nod and left the room without so much as another word. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Felicia finally looked up from her laptop.
‘That was weird,’ she said.
‘
Harry
is weird,’ Striker replied. ‘But a good man – he’s been through an awful lot. How’s it coming over there?’
Felicia just shrugged and looked back at the laptop. ‘Things are slowly coming together. We got some history on the toy shop.’
‘Do tell.’
‘Six months ago, Patrol was called to deal with a stubborn panhandler who kept harassing all the customers. The complainant’s name was Keisha Williams, and at the time, she was the
store owner. So that matches what the other business owners were telling me. She’s the one.’
‘You run her name through the other databases?’
Felicia nodded. ‘Yeah. She comes up as a black woman, one hundred and eighty centimetres tall and a hundred kilos. Big woman.’
‘Any tattoos?’
‘None listed.’ Felicia kept reading down the page. After a moment, her face tightened. ‘Oh boy. She’s a single mother of
five
.’
Striker felt like he’d been sucker-punched.
‘And look at this,’ Felicia continued. ‘Guess who’s listed under her Associates tab? Dr Sharise Owens. They’re
cousins
.’
Striker beelined to her side and stared at the screen.
‘This is too much to be a coincidence.’ He looked back at the medical examiner, who was now in the process of detailing a body chart. ‘This changes everything, Kirstin. I want
the works done on this one. Full swabs, tox tests, X-rays – you name it.’
Dunsmuir gave him a cool look, as if warning him not to tell her how to do her job. But, eventually, she nodded silently.
‘Is there any way you can move this examination up?’ Striker pleaded. ‘I’m desperate here.’
The medical examiner said nothing in reply. She just completed the chart she was holding, then snapped closed the metal binder. When she looked up and met Striker’s stare, her eyes
remained uncommunicative and cold.
‘No promises,’ she finally said. ‘But I’ll see what I can do.’
Twenty-Seven
Once in the parking lot outside the morgue, where they could finally get a cell signal, Striker got on his phone and once again tried Dr Sharise Owens’ cell number. Like
before, it rang several times, then went straight to voicemail. He left yet another message, then called her apartment and did the same. Last of all, he tried her workplace.
The nurse who answered the call this time was not the original one he had spoken to before. This girl sounded very young and very tired. After
Street Headquarters, away from Main Street’s Major Crimes Section.
Despite the time that had passed, not much had changed in the man. Harry was in his late forties, maybe early fifties, and the silvering lines on his light-brown hair were a testament to his
years on the job. The red rash of broken blood vessels that coloured his cheeks made his blue eyes look cold and were framed by a jowly chin and padded cheekbones. He always looked worn thin, and
today he looked especially beaten down.
Harry looked at the examination table. Moved forward. Stared down at the body.
‘Jesus mercy,’ he said.
Striker nodded. ‘You got some information on her?’
Harry said nothing for a moment, then blinked. He looked away from the body on the table. Splayed his hands in frustration. ‘I lost sight of the suspect behind the Starbucks building. With
all the traffic jammed up on the bridge, I just couldn’t get around, Shipwreck. I’m sorry.’
Striker nodded. ‘It was chaos.’
‘Yeah, chaos . . .’ Harry let out a long breath. ‘Listen, I’ll send you my notes through the internal mail. Need a police statement?’
Striker nodded. ‘Mandatory.’
‘Okay.’
The room went quiet; Harry said nothing else. His face took on a deep, despondent look as he stared at the body on the table. ‘Jesus mercy,’ he said one last time. Then he gave
Striker a nod and left the room without so much as another word. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Felicia finally looked up from her laptop.
‘That was weird,’ she said.
‘
Harry
is weird,’ Striker replied. ‘But a good man – he’s been through an awful lot. How’s it coming over there?’
Felicia just shrugged and looked back at the laptop. ‘Things are slowly coming together. We got some history on the toy shop.’
‘Do tell.’
‘Six months ago, Patrol was called to deal with a stubborn panhandler who kept harassing all the customers. The complainant’s name was Keisha Williams, and at the time, she was the
store owner. So that matches what the other business owners were telling me. She’s the one.’
‘You run her name through the other databases?’
Felicia nodded. ‘Yeah. She comes up as a black woman, one hundred and eighty centimetres tall and a hundred kilos. Big woman.’
‘Any tattoos?’
‘None listed.’ Felicia kept reading down the page. After a moment, her face tightened. ‘Oh boy. She’s a single mother of
five
.’
Striker felt like he’d been sucker-punched.
‘And look at this,’ Felicia continued. ‘Guess who’s listed under her Associates tab? Dr Sharise Owens. They’re
cousins
.’
Striker beelined to her side and stared at the screen.
‘This is too much to be a coincidence.’ He looked back at the medical examiner, who was now in the process of detailing a body chart. ‘This changes everything, Kirstin. I want
the works done on this one. Full swabs, tox tests, X-rays – you name it.’
Dunsmuir gave him a cool look, as if warning him not to tell her how to do her job. But, eventually, she nodded silently.
‘Is there any way you can move this examination up?’ Striker pleaded. ‘I’m desperate here.’
The medical examiner said nothing in reply. She just completed the chart she was holding, then snapped closed the metal binder. When she looked up and met Striker’s stare, her eyes
remained uncommunicative and cold.
‘No promises,’ she finally said. ‘But I’ll see what I can do.’
Twenty-Seven
Once in the parking lot outside the morgue, where they could finally get a cell signal, Striker got on his phone and once again tried Dr Sharise Owens’ cell number. Like
before, it rang several times, then went straight to voicemail. He left yet another message, then called her apartment and did the same. Last of all, he tried her workplace.
The nurse who answered the call this time was not the original one he had spoken to before. This girl sounded very young and very tired. After
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