Striker wrote this all down. ‘Scary dude.’

‘Sure thought so . . . and he was . . . at least, till that cop showed up.’

Striker looked up from his notebook. ‘What cop?’

‘I dunno. Some guy. Came and took Sunny for a walk. Did it real late one night . . . and Sunny never bothered no one after that. Hell, he never came home again. Just fucked right off, and that was that.’

‘You got a name for this cop?’ Felicia asked.

Dreadlocks shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Look, I don’t want no trouble with this.’

‘Whatever you say doesn’t go past this alcove,’ Striker promised.

‘For real?’

‘For real.’

Dreadlocks looked back uncertainly and his jaw clicked as he ground his teeth. ‘Can’t remember the dude’s name,’ he finally said. ‘But he was older than you. Late forties maybe. Had a real bad rash on his cheeks. And his eyes were blue. Like ice blue. Real fuckin’ cold.’

Striker gave Felicia a look and saw that she had made the connection too. Only one cop they knew fit that description. And he did so down to a T.

Harry Eckhart.

Thirty-Four

Harry Eckhart wasn’t answering his personal cell or his work phone. When Striker called the General Investigation Unit, he expected to hear that Harry had gone home for the day. But the sergeant in charge told him otherwise; Harry had gone to talk to Vice about a file he was working on.

So he was still around.

Striker wasted no time. He put the car in gear and headed for The Bunker. This was the location the operational squads – Strike Force, the Emergency Response Team, Vice and Drugs – called home, a plain drab concrete warehouse located in the heart of District 3.

Striker checked his watch when they got close. It was just after 19:00 hours now – seven p.m. standard time – and he hoped they hadn’t missed the man. They key-carded in to the underground, drove down a couple of levels, and spotted Harry walking towards his car.

‘He looks terrible,’ Felicia noted. ‘Sick.’

Striker could see that. ‘Ever since Harry lost his boy, he’s never been the same. It took something out of the man he never got back.’

He drove the undercover cruiser ahead.

When Harry climbed into his personal vehicle – an old model Honda CRV – and started the engine, Striker pulled in behind the SUV and gave the horn a tap.

They all exited and gathered between the two vehicles.

‘Striker, Felicia,’ Harry said. He forced a smile, one that never touched the corners of his eyes, then gestured to the undercover cruiser that Striker had left running in the middle of the driveway, boxing him into the stall. ‘I see your parking skills have improved.’

‘And I can see your car’s still been nothing but lady driven,’ Striker retorted.

Harry laughed at that one, and Striker got down to business.

‘Listen, Harry, I thought we might take a moment to debrief some of what’s happened today.’

‘The explosion, or the guy who ran on us?’

Felicia said, ‘Other things.’

Harry nodded, almost cautiously. ‘What other things?’

Striker took out his notebook and explained. ‘Had a little conversation today that turned up something interesting. The name Solomon Bay ring a bell? Guy sometimes goes by the name Sunny.’

Harry offered no reaction. ‘Should it?’

‘I would think so. He sounds like a guy most people would remember. Real prick. Liked to beat up a woman named Keisha Williams in front of her children. Or at least, he used to – till someone took him for a walk.’

A look of recognition crossed Harry’s features, but he did not smile.

‘Doesn’t ring a bell,’ he finally said.

Striker eyed the man, half-surprised at Harry’s uncooperativeness. ‘You sure on that one?’

Harry said nothing, and Felicia spoke up. ‘The description sounded like you.’

The blank expression on Harry’s face mutated into one of controlled anger. ‘What, you wearing a wire now, Santos?’

She blinked in surprise. ‘What?’

Striker just splayed his hands. ‘Holy shit, Harry, why the sudden hostility? We’re just following up some leads here. You’re acting like we’re out to get you, or something.’

Harry said nothing at first. He just stood there and his uncommunicative blue eyes lingered on them for a long moment. Then his posture sagged and he bowed his head a little. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Been a long day. Hard day. Bad day.’ He met Striker’s stare, tried to steel his voice but only got out a whisper. ‘It’s the anniversary of Josh’s . . .’

‘I understand,’ Striker said.

Harry looked away and let out a long breath. ‘This is off the record, okay?’

‘I wouldn’t have it any other way.’

‘Yeah, I knew Solomon Bay. He was a piece of shit. Real violent. And not just towards Keisha Williams. The guy had a history back east in Ontario. He choked a woman to death after he raped her.’

Striker turned his stare on Felicia. ‘You never mentioned that.’

She looked helpless. ‘It wasn’t in any of the computer databases.’

‘And it won’t be,’ Harry said. ‘Because it’s from the Barrie Police Department. And they never used PRIME back then. And Solomon was never officially charged with anything – no one would testify against him; they were all too afraid.’

‘So what happened?’ Striker asked.

Harry didn’t look away. ‘I half-killed the fuck, that’s what happened. Took him for a river walk, you know? Made him swim the channel. When the fucker had almost drowned, we stepped in and fished him out.’

‘We?’ Striker asked.

Harry raised a finger. ‘I told that sonuvabitch he had a choice to make – he was leaving Vancouver one way or the other. The way he went was up to him.’ Harry rubbed a hand through his short, thinning hair and let out a long breath, as if discussing the situation was exhausting. ‘That woman – Keisha – she was a single mother of five kids. And all of them just little ones. That cocksucker, he really tuned her up bad. Did it right in front of the children . . . But he left her alone after I dealt with him. Left everyone alone. For good.’

Striker waited for Harry to finish. ‘So why all the secrecy?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, why didn’t you just tell us all this back at the morgue? You saw Keisha. Saw what had happened to her.’

Harry looked down the parkade corridor at nothing that was there and didn’t speak for a long moment. ‘I didn’t make the connection,’ he finally said. ‘I didn’t even know it was the toy shop that had blown up. I thought . . . I thought . . .’ His eyes found Striker’s eyes – ‘Oh Jesus, was it really her, Shipwreck?’

‘It looks like it, Harry.’

The lines in the older cop’s face deepened. ‘Her kids—’

‘Are being taken care of by their uncle,’ Felicia said.

Striker flipped through the pages of his notebook. ‘What about Sharise Owens? You know her?’

Harry thought it over. ‘The cousin, right? Yeah, I remember her. She was the one who called us back then. A doctor or something.’

‘That’s her.’

‘So what about her?’

‘There’s only two names in the no-contact conditions ordered against Solomon Bay – Keisha Williams and Sharise Owens. One of them is now dead from the explosion at the toy shop, and the other is missing . . . We have reason to believe Dr Sharise Owens might have been our victim who was tortured in a warehouse this morning, down by the river.’

Harry’s expression was one of disbelief. ‘And you think Solomon was responsible for all this?’

‘He’s the strongest lead we have.’

Felicia added, ‘He knew both women. There’s a restraining order against him. And he’s shown a history of violence. He’s a perfect suspect.’