“Nicole has been subjected to extreme trauma,” I say. “The problem is that, as you might imagine, she’s eager to leave Rockton and put this whole experience behind her. But we can’t let that happen. She’s in such a delicate mental state that no matter what precautions you take, Isabel strongly fears Nicole will find a way to tell her story to the world. That would endanger Rockton.”
There’s a noise at the other end of the phone, as if I finally have his attention.
“Nicole is a good person,” I say. “She doesn’t want to cause trouble. But she’s in deep psychological pain, and she wants her captor caught. To her, that will mean bringing in the RCMP. What we need to do is prove that we can find him. We can punish him. That’s all she wants. When she sees that we can do the job at least as well as the Mounties, she’ll relax and heal and reach the point where she’ll leave happy and stable.”
“Can you do that?”
“Find her captor? I—”
“At this point, that’s the lesser of our concerns.”
Not the lesser of mine. Or anyone who actually has to live here. I bite my tongue, and Phil says, “I meant, can you convince her to stay?”
I take a moment, as if this requires deep consideration. “Isabel believes we can. We’ll start by using the storm as an excuse. Then we’ll show her that we’re on the case, putting all of our efforts into tracking down her captor. I might even be able to convince her that once we find him, she would still be safer here. I think it’s best to be upfront about timing. I would say it could be as much as a year, to be completely sure she’s fine before she leaves. Does that work?”
“It does. Thank you, Detective. Your diligence and foresight in this matter is appreciated.”
* * *
I’m back in the icehouse. When I tell Nicole that we’ve bought her a year, she breaks down in tears. When she recovers, I say that her stay is dependent on her health remaining stable, of course, and if she must leave, I’ll do my best to let her return. She doesn’t argue—it’s obvious we’re not going to risk her health. When I confess about the story I had to weave to buy her time, she finds a laugh for me.
“Clever,” she says. “You know how to handle them. I’ll be sure not to tell anyone that I wanted to stay.”
“Thank you. Now, I’d like to keep you under guard for a while. We’ll also assign a caretaker, until you’re stronger.”
“Can it be Diana?”
I hesitate. “We’ll see if she can be spared. For now, let’s get you home and resting. I’m going to have questions—a lot, I’m afraid. If you’re up to it, I’d like to come by in a few hours. I know that doesn’t give you much time to rest.”
“You’re trying to find the bastard who did this. I’m here for whatever you need.”
* * *
I’m walking with Dalton through the perimeter woods, heading to my place. We’re narrowing down local suspects. Yes, we know Nicole’s captor might be a hostile or a settler. But presuming it’s an outsider is the worst kind of gut-level community policing. The sad truth is that a crime like this is more likely to be committed by a local … and someone known to the victim.
“Sex offenders normally shoot to the top of the list,” I say. “Except the ones we have aren’t the right type. Not for anyone over the age of sixteen.”
We have pedophiles rather than rapists, the council apparently declaring the former low-risk, given that we don’t have kids here. I could see that as a sign that they care about the residents, but in reality, they’re like actuaries, measuring risk and profit, and saddling us with habitual violent offenders of any type just isn’t good business.
We’re discussing the possibility that one of our pedophiles rechanneled his frustrated drives. If I were having this conversation with some of my co-workers down south, I’d get the a-perv-is-a-perv argument. When it comes to criminology, Dalton is the best-read partner I’ve had, and it really is an academic discussion—given the nature of pedophilia, what is the chance they’ll substitute adult rape?
We’re passing the station when Anders catches up. Dalton tells him we’re heading to my place for a rest, Anders says, “What about … that thing?”
“It can wait,” Dalton says.
I sigh. “Let me guess. Crisis number twenty-seven awaits? If someone took firewood and didn’t pay again, it’s Jen. And if it’s not her, she’s almost certainly done something to deserve a day on snow-shoveling duty, so I’m fine scapegoating her. There. Case solved.”
“It’s not a case,” Anders says. “Eric brought you … a thing.”
That has me perking up. “A present?”
“It can wait,” Dalton says.
“Hell, no,” I say. “I could very much use the distraction. Give me the thing. Now.”
Anders snickers.
“Get your mind out of the gutter,” I say. “If I was being dirty, I wouldn’t use a grade-school euphemism.”
“Hey, your mind went the same place.”
“Only when you snickered like a schoolboy.” I look at Dalton. “I want the thing. Whatever it is.”
“You’ll get it. Later. You need to rest and—”
“I need the thing.”
“You heard her, boss. She needs the thing. Yeah, it’s bad timing, but you have to give it to her sooner or later. You’ve offered it, and she’s not going to rest until she gets it.” He pauses. “This conversation isn’t sounding any less dirty, is it?”