Storm Lines Page 12

  By ten o’clock, dishes were done, Aimee was bathed and in bed, and Carla had retired to read in their shared room. When Devon returned from starting up the dishwasher, Marley was leaning sideways on the couch, a pillow across her abdomen, half asleep. Devon watched her for a moment, feeling a combination of protection and connection and somehow a sense of rightness with Marley here, curled up on her couch.

  “Hey,” Marley said, opening her eyes. “Come join me.”

  Devon sat on the opposite end of the couch, and Marley shifted her feet to make room. Devon took the invitation and pulled her feet up on the couch as well, their legs resting lightly against each other. The touch felt good, warmth that enveloped them both.

  “Pain meds worked?” Devon said.

  “Yeah. Loopy now.”

  “You can sleep here tonight, if you like.”

  “Don’t have a choice. I am one with your couch,” Marley said, smiling. She held out her hand to Devon, and without thinking, Devon took it. “Thank you. For everything.”

  Devon smiled in response. She ran her fingers over Marley’s knuckles. When Marley hummed happily and closed her eyes, Devon began tracing Marley’s fingers with the lightest touch. She stroked the folds of Marley’s skin, the pads of her fingers, the lines of her palms, and the bones of her wrist. Warmth in Devon’s core turned to heat.

  “That feels so nice,” Marley said. “I wish I wasn’t half asleep.”

  Devon laughed. “I think you’re more than half asleep, Constable Marlowe.”

  Marley opened her eyes, and Devon saw the heat she felt mirrored in Marley’s expression.

  “True. And if I wasn’t more than half asleep, I’d kiss you.”

  Devon’s heart pounded in her chest. It had been so long since she’d really wanted to kiss anyone, to be this close. And she wasn’t sure she’d ever wanted to kiss anyone this badly.

  “Might be the pain meds talking,” Devon said, feeling her bravery slip away.

  Marley gave a half smile and closed her eyes again. “No, definitely not. But I’d like to be more awake when I kiss you.”

  Devon squeezed Marley’s hand and whispered, “Me, too.”

  After a few moments, Devon carefully stood from the couch and found an extra pillow and blanket for Marley. She helped Marley ease down onto the couch, finding a more comfortable position to spend the night. Then Devon covered her with the blanket and knelt down in front of her.

  “I’m just down the hall if you need anything,” Devon said. “I hope you sleep well.”

  Marley mumbled out a quiet thank you. Devon listened to her soft breathing for a moment longer, then leaned in and brushed a soft good-night kiss across Marley’s cheek.

  Chapter Eight

  Marley walked into the precinct at seven thirty the next morning. It was quiet in the back room, the energy of the day yet to disrupt the working space of Hamilton’s city police force. Marley was always conflicted about coming in this time of day, when no one was there to say hi or stop her with a question. No one she matched in their dark blue uniforms, who looked at her like she was a cop. Like she belonged. But also no one here to ignore her, to remind her she’d crossed an invisible line by daring to find fault.

  “Just focus on the job,” Marley muttered to herself.

  “Marlowe?”

  Marley looked up as Simms wound his way around cubicles, desks, and a whiteboard on wheels.

  “Hey, Simms. You’re in early.”

  “We found a lead on those addresses yesterday,” Simms said. “Windsor. We knew West lived in Windsor, but he had no criminal history other than keeping a broken-down car registered to his name parked on the street for a month.”

  “Aimee lived in Windsor?”

  Simms looked momentarily confused. “The kid? Yeah, I guess so. If you want to follow up on that, go for it. I know it’s sort of your…thing.”

  Right, because only female cops cared about kids. Marley wanted to roll her eyes. That probably wasn’t how he meant it. Simms was a good guy, a good cop. And a dad.

  “I’ll do that,” she said. “Find out if she was registered at school or had a babysitter. Someone who could comment on what she did while she lived there.”

  “Done. Excellent. I’m heading to Windsor. One of the addresses got the precinct there all stirred up. Known drug activity with a suspected link to one of their kingpins.”

  “Right along the border, Jesus,” Marley said. “That can’t be easy to police.”

  Simms shrugged. He looked more excited than anything. “I’ve got to go. I’m picking up Salik from Public Health, who wants to liaise with the guys from their health teams over there. See if there are any similarities to what we’ve got.”

  Layers upon layers. “Anything new on that front?”

  “Suspicious opioid overdose in the east end early this morning. One of our guys flagged it on the call. The exact symptoms we talked about the other day, but mega worse.” Simms checked his watch. “I gotta go. Keep in touch, Marlowe.”

  Simms almost jogged out of the work area, taking his fast-talking, excited energy with him. Marley felt somehow more drained, as if Simms’s thrill in the chase highlighted her own indifference. She loved being a community officer. She loved making connections and the power that the position gave her to intervene, but she could never suspend her understanding of the stories long enough to love the hunt, the takedown, the raids, the arrest.

  None of that mattered now. Marley picked up the unfamiliar travel mug and took a sip of coffee. The slight sweetness of hazelnut made her smile. She’d woken this morning to Devon moving quietly around the kitchen. Her sleep on the couch had been comfortable enough, pulled down by pain meds that gave her bizarre dreams of endless ladders to climb, starving dogs, and the feeling that she wasn’t going to make it on time. Seeing Devon in the kitchen in gym shorts and a faded McMaster University Faculty of Science T-shirt chased the nastiness of her dreams away. Having Devon smile at her in the early morning light, remembering the sweetness of Devon’s good-night kiss that had followed her into sleep, made something chaotic in Marley finally settle.

  Marley brought herself back to the present. She had work to do before Devon brought Carla and Aimee in at ten. She needed to check in with Crawford to try and convince him to let her and Devon interview Aimee with Carla present. Gripping the travel mug Devon had handed her on the way out the door that morning, Marley went to hunt down her supervisor.

  By 9:47, Marley had drawn out a line of questioning for Aimee with Crawford, who hadn’t needed any convincing to let her and Devon take the lead on questioning. She had also met with the psychologist who often did contract work with the RCMP to get a better understanding of how to get to the most information with the least intrusive methods, smoothed things over with the disgruntled F&CS worker, and made sure every person who might be interacting with Aimee today had a solid understanding of her history and her needs. She had just sent Devon a series of pictures to show to Aimee—where they would be coming into the precinct, the hallway, and the room where they would be talking. The intake worker had recommended it to try and at least get Aimee prepared for the space. She was wondering if she had time to run to the grocery store down the street and grab some of Aimee’s favourite snacks when Devon texted to say they were coming in.

  Marley went to the front to meet them and spotted them right away. Aimee walked between Devon and Carla, a notebook and pen in her hand. Her face was blank with none of the animated expressions and smiles she showed when she was calm and comfortable. When she felt safe. Marley swallowed the ache and the guilt of having to put Aimee in this situation. She tried to control her surge of anger at Randolph West. None of that was helpful to Aimee right now.

  Marley looked at Devon, trying to anchor herself in the calmness she exuded.

  “Hi, guys,” Marley said. She tried not to be overly cheerful. Pretending this was a fun little outing was an insult to Aimee. She gave Aimee a half-smile. “This might be a little bi
t shitty, kid. I’m not going to lie.”

  Aimee’s eyes brightened, and she put a hand to her mouth to cover a smile before glancing up at her grandmother.

  “We were just talking about that in the car,” Carla said. Marley noticed she was chewing gum, a definite sign she was nervous as well. But the hand she placed on her granddaughter’s unruly waves was steady.

  “Though we managed to say it without the curse words, Constable Marlowe,” Devon added, smiling.

  Aimee’s smile disappeared again as someone approached. Marley turned to see Crawford, who had stopped short of the small group. They had agreed Aimee would have to interact with as few people as possible.

  “Room is ready, Constable.”

  “Thanks. Ready for this?” she said to Aimee, who had lost all glimmer of her smile. “It’s only going to be us in there, promise.”

  Aimee blinked and leaned into her grandmother. Marley waited, a quick glance at Devon telling her it was okay. After a moment, Aimee stood straighter and nodded.

  The interrogation room was bland and unassuming, with a laminate wood oval table and a few office chairs. The only distinguishing features were the audio and video recorder mounted in the ceiling and the one-way mirror on one wall, behind which Crawford and the psychologist planned to watch the interview.

  Marley began once they were all seated, Aimee kneeling on a chair so she could lean her elbows on the table.

  “I’m going to start with some official things because that’s part of the job, and then I’m going to ask you some questions.” She waited for Aimee to nod her understanding before continuing. “Our talk is going to be recorded so we can remember what gets said and we don’t have to take notes.” Aimee followed as she pointed to the video camera. She seemed unconcerned. “If you write out something, I’m going to repeat it so it gets picked up by the microphone. You can stop anytime you want. If you’re unsure about a question, that’s okay. And I want you to try and remember you will not get into trouble for any of your answers. Not at all, not even a little, no matter what you tell us. Okay?”

  Aimee grabbed her pen and wrote something down. She pushed it across to Marley.

  “Dad in trouble?” Marley read out loud. She glanced at Aimee. “He is,” Marley said. “Remember how we talked about your dad making some not great decisions about illegal drugs? Those drugs are making people sick, so we’re asking a lot of people a lot of questions about that to try and get all the information.”

  Aimee scrunched up her face as if unsatisfied with the answer.

  “Can I ask a question?” Devon said to Marley. “To see if I can clarify what Aimee might be asking.”

  “Go ahead,” Marley said.

  “Are you asking if your answers will get your dad in trouble?” Devon said.

  Aimee nodded at Devon, then glanced back at Marley.

  Marley took a moment with the question before she tried to answer. “Your dad’s actions are his responsibility, not yours. Anything he has done or anything he has asked you or other people to do for him, that’s all his responsibility. We are going to ask questions of you and a lot of other people. But at the end of the day, your dad has to answer for his own decisions and actions.”

  Marley held Aimee’s gaze, though she desperately wanted to check in with Devon to make sure she’d said the right thing. After a moment, Aimee pulled back her notebook and waved her hand in Marley’s direction, a move that made her look just like her grandmother. She was ready.

  “How many houses did you live at with your dad?”

  Aimee held up two fingers.

  “Were they both in this city, in Hamilton?”

  Aimee shook her head.

  “Do you know the name of the other city?”

  Aimee shook her head again, but then wrote something down.

  “St. Agatha’s,” Marley read, then looked up at Aimee. “The name of your school in the other city?”

  Aimee nodded. Then wrote again. “Miss K.”

  Marley smiled after reading the note out loud. “Miss K was your teacher at St. Agatha’s.” Marley decided to use this avenue to steer them toward some of the tougher questions. “How did you get to school every day?”

  Aimee walked two fingers across the surface of the table.

  “You walked by yourself?”

  Aimee shrugged, like it wasn’t a big deal. Marley sensed Carla’s tension at this answer. She hoped Carla could keep it together. Aimee was a sensitive soul, very in tune to the people around her. If Carla got angry about the way Randolph treated her, Aimee might begin to shut down, unwilling to upset her grandmother.

  Devon obviously noticed, too. She leaned back in her chair so she was out of Aimee’s line of sight. Devon caught Carla’s eye and tapped her chest, reminding her of her own mantra. Carla closed her eyes briefly and nodded her understanding to Devon.

  “Did you have homework at St. Agatha’s?” Marley said.

  Aimee tilted her head back and forth.

  “Sometimes, right? Did you have jobs in your classroom? I remember we had jobs in the third grade. I loved cleaning the chalkboard best.”

  Aimee excitedly wrote down a list.

  “Recycling, putting up chairs, sweeper.” Marley smiled as she read it out loud. “Did you have jobs at your house with Randolph?”

  Aimee’s smile disappeared. She hesitated, then grabbed the paper.

  “Breakfast, lunch, visits,” Marley read out loud. Her heart rate spiked for a moment, but she took a steadying breath. “Who did you visit?”

  Aimee shrugged and didn’t meet Marley’s eyes.

  “Did you visit by yourself?”

  Aimee nodded but offered nothing more.

  “How did you know where to visit?”

  Aimee wrote a short note.

  “Randolph list,” Marley read. “He gave you a list?”

  Another nod.

  Marley swallowed her frustration at herself. This was important, but she wasn’t getting anywhere.

  “May I try?” Devon said.

  “Please.”

  “Aimee, we’re going to make a bit of a movie. You have a whole picture in your head of what these visits look like, but we don’t. So, let’s make a movie so we can all see it, okay?”

  Aimee looked curious.

  “So, in a movie we need to know the setting. Where is the star of our movie, Aimee West?”

  Aimee’s eyes sparked with life and she wrote a note, which Devon read out loud. “Outside Randolph’s apartment. Good. And what time of day is it?”

  Another note.

  “After school. Excellent. What does the star of our movie have with her?”

  A pause.

  “A list, a map, and your backpack. This is good, I can see all of this movie,” Devon said encouragingly. She glanced at Marley, who took the cue.

  “What’s in your backpack in this movie?” Marley said.

  A slight hesitation, then Aimee wrote a short note. She crossed it out and wrote it again before huffing out a breath and pushing it across to Marley.

  “Envelopes,” Marley read. It was the first word she’d spelled wrong, and she’d tried a few times. That seemed to frustrate Aimee. “Did Randolph give you the envelopes?”

  Aimee nodded.

  “Okay, so in our movie, Aimee West is outside her apartment after school with envelopes in her backpack. Then what happens?”

  She repeated the walking with her fingers.

  “You walked. How did you know where to go?”

  Aimee found the note from earlier and tapped the word map.

  “Oh, right. Randolph gave you a map. The kind you can buy with all the colours?”

  She shook her head and mimed sketching.

  “Do you mean Randolph drew you a map of where to go?”

  Aimee nodded.

  “So, our camera is following Aimee West as she walks down the street with her map. Then what happens?”

  Aimee wrote a longer note. “Addresses on map. Knock on door
. Give envelope.” She still looked frustrated at that word, her face scrunched in anger.

  “Did the people who answered the door give you anything?”

  Aimee shook her head, still staring at the word.

  “Did you ever go into their houses?”

  A harder shake of her head, vehement. Marley relaxed a little.

  “Do you know what was in the envelopes?”

  Aimee shrugged and shook her head.

  “You think you know what was in the envelopes?”

  Aimee looked up at Marley. Her eyes seemed a little wild and very angry. The joyful Aimee was nowhere to be seen. Marley was about to remind Aimee she didn’t have to answer the question when Aimee gripped her pen and began writing. The letters were bigger, all capitals, each stroke a sign of Aimee’s agitation. She filled a page with the giant, angry words and slapped it on the desk and kept writing.

  Marley picked it up and read it out loud. “DRUGS. AIMEE WEST CARRIED DRUGS. AIMEE WEST CARRIED DRUGS IN HER BACKPACK.” Marley fought to control her voice. She barely had time to glance up to see Carla’s pale face and Devon’s shocked expression before Aimee pounded the notepad with a small fist, an awful strangled sound escaping from her throat as she angrily scratched out a word.

  Marley didn’t know how to calm this angry child. Devon pulled her chair closer to Aimee, their shoulders just touching, reading the words Aimee was struggling with. Then she grabbed a pen and used one of the used papers to write out the word envelopes and put it in front of Aimee without saying a word. Aimee looked at the note, then copied the word in giant letters, even as angry tears surfaced and spilled down her cheeks. She pushed the notepad to Marley, then collapsed sideways into Carla’s arms.

  Marley lifted the note up with shaking hands. Aimee West carried envelopes of drugs in her backpack. Marley couldn’t bring herself to read it out loud. She listened as Carla murmured into the top of her granddaughter’s head, rubbing her back, trying to soothe the distraught child. The strangled, coughing sounds of Aimee’s crying began to subside. Marley’s guilt didn’t.