Page 16

Aslan

S ince Ruiz was stuck with Daddy duty, I left him at the house with orders from Quaid to “Dig deeper, goddammit,” and promises of “Tell Costa I’ll get a warrant.”

GPS took me to a middle-class area in Parkwoods, a neighborhood north of Victoria Village where the Davises lived. Quaid waited in the blacked-out Charger but got out the instant I parked, meeting me at the end of a driveway leading to a two-story craftsman-style home.

I was surprised when Quaid asked me to meet him at the house, figuring he would want his partner beside him for what could be a potentially shady interview, but he’d insisted.

Quaid read the question in my eyes as I approached with the tablet Ruiz had loaned me wedged under one arm.

“Explain yourself, hot stuff. I’m on leave. Why am I here?”

“No, you’re officially my bitch, and I need you.”

I chuckled. “Is that so?”

“Nixon’s parents and brother are at the house, and tension is high.

Imogen’s parents are on their way, and Jordyn felt it best that one of us was present when they arrived.

Our liaison officer is fresh from the academy, and the situation is too delicate to leave her alone. ” He motioned to the tablet. “Show me.”

I scanned the neighborhood, ensuring we were alone before locating the section of video Ruiz had transferred onto the device.

I let it run as I explained. “We felt that solely looking for the missing child in these videos wasn’t an effective approach, so Ruiz downloaded images of as many family members as we could find online.

The parents, the grandparents, aunts, uncles, along with pictures of Jude and Clementine. ”

I paused the video, earning an annoyed look from my husband. I held up a finger, asking for patience as I continued. “Did you know your boy friend is a fucking genius?”

Quaid’s lips twitched. “His brain is a bit of a turn-on.”

I chuckled. “You’re incorrigible.”

“You started it. Stop calling him my boyfriend, and I’ll stop playing the part.”

“Stop making it one word.”

“Why do you antagonize him?”

“Same reason you do. It’s fun.”

“One of these days, we’ll go too far, and he’ll run and never look back.”

“Nah. He loves you in his own quirky, super-straight way. Just don’t ask him to admit it.”

Quaid smirked and scanned the street before stealing a quick kiss, lingering and hitting me with a hooded gaze. “You’re not jealous, are you?”

I howled and tugged him closer. “Not even a little.”

“Get to the point, handsome. I have a missing kid and a severely pregnant surrogate ready to pop any day.” Sobering, Quaid pulled from my arms, a worry line emerging between his brows. “Did you call Bryn? Is she okay? How’s she feeling? I planned to visit today until this happened.”

Using a thumb, I rubbed the creases marring his forehead to no avail.

They remained, growing deeper with my fussing.

“She’s okay. I called. We didn’t chat long.

I told her about the case and asked her to contact me if anything changed because you might be neck-deep in a recovery.

Now, can I explain about Ruiz’s boner-inducing genius?

It’s hot out, and I’m going to sweat through my shirt at this rate. ”

Quaid’s devious smirk appeared as he shifted focus to the paused tablet. “He’d kill you for that remark, you know.”

“Oh, I know.”

“Go on. What am I looking at?”

“Like I said, Ruiz gathered images of as many people involved with this family as possible. He scanned their faces and uploaded them to a program so that it would alert us if there was a match in the surveillance videos. It took him a while to set it up, but considering I was expecting hours of viewing footage, it actually saved us time.”

“It found something?”

I nodded.

“Show me.”

Once Ruiz had set up the program and uploaded everything we’d received from the arena, it was a simple matter of letting it run and trusting the process.

I expressed concern that it might miss something we would catch, but Ruiz assured me that the program would be more accurate than if we visually scanned crowds since it took measurements of a person’s facial structure for comparison.

Even if a person was disguised, it would hit before we would.

When the bells and whistles sounded in under five minutes, my jaw hit the floor .

I paused the video at the moment our culprit appeared on screen. The ballcap covering half his face didn’t matter. Even without a computer program, I could tell it was a match. “Voila. Jude Marigold.”

I presented Quaid with a color printout of Jude from the NexGen website so he had something to compare it to.

My meticulous husband studied both, ensuring there was no mistake. “He’s going into the building in this frame.” Quaid pointed to the iPad. “Does it catch him coming out? Is Crowley with him?”

“We did an extensive analysis both with the program and manually.” I switched to another video clip and showed where we’d discovered Jude leaving the building less than ten minutes later. “But… no sign of Crowley in any of the feeds.”

“None?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Positive.”

“Did you confirm if Nixon showed up halfway through the game?”

“Yes. We got him coming and going.”

“Demeanor?”

“Hard to say. The clips are short.”

Quaid puzzled the information for a few minutes, glancing twice at the house at the end of the driveway as his tongue danced along his upper lip. “Crow was going to the Soccerplex. That isn’t up for debate. He had a game he anxiously didn’t want to miss.”

“He didn’t make it, Quaid. That kid didn’t go in the building.”

“No, but why was Jude there?”

I motioned for Quaid to precede me up the drive. “How about we ask him?”

Unfortunately, Jude’s wife, visibly rattled by our announcement that we were with the Toronto police, informed us Jude wasn’t home. “ He left earlier, claiming he had stuff to take care of at the office. What’s this about? Is he in trouble?”

Ignoring her question, Quaid inquired what time Jude left, learning it was around eight. My husband’s mind worked in overdrive as he debated our next course of action. I’d learned to read him like a book and waited for a cue as to how we might proceed.

“Do you know if he planned to go anywhere else when he was done?” he asked the wife.

The wide-eyed woman shook her head. “I assume he’ll come home. He doesn’t usually work on weekends. Do you want me to tell him you stopped by?”

“Not necessary,” Quaid said, backing up. “Thank you for your time.”

Jude’s wife stood with the door open, watching our retreat down the driveway. Once we were out of earshot, I said, “She’s going to text or call him. He now has a heads-up.”

“Let’s see if he’s at the office.”

Quaid removed his cell and called his partner, updating her as we veered toward our separate vehicles.

I could have ditched the Equinox at headquarters and buddied up with Quaid since NexGen was located in the downtown area as well, but considering the complexity of the case, I didn’t think it was wise.

At some point, we might need a lot of feet on the ground, all going in different directions.

Having an extra vehicle available could be paramount.

NexGen occupied the third and fourth floors of a steel and glass skyrise, sharing space with other prominent businesses.

The late morning sun reflected off the wall of windows on the east side of the building as we searched for parking.

The day was warming up fast. Mid-June meant summer was upon us.

Heat and humidity abound. Add city smog, and it was a toxic mix.

The sky was rarely clear. A yellow haze hung over the downtown area, washing out what might have been a clear blue day otherwise.

The ground floor of the skyrise consisted of a lobby, various food and drink establishments, a courtyard with tables, large planters with various trees and shrubs, and several private workstations.

I assumed the space would be filled with suit-wearing corporate types on a weekday looking for a quick hit of caffeine or a bite to eat on limited time.

It provided spots for meetings or a location where someone could get away from a stuffy office space and breathe.

The elevators required pass cards for certain levels, so we located a bored security guard and presented our badges so he would let us up. When the burly Black man with the suspicious gaze asked who we were after on a Saturday, he informed us Jude Marigold’s office was unmissable.

“Oh, him. Yep. He’s a top dog around here.

Biggest office on the third floor. Southeast side.

Right near the back. Can’t miss it. Officious, if you know what I mean.

All glass walls and windows overlooking the street.

You know how the bureaucratic types are.

Mr. Davis is on the fourth floor. There’s a better view from his window.

He could see the lake if there weren’t so many other buildings in the way.

That’s what you get in the big city though. Buildings. Tall and lots of them.”

“Thank you.” Quaid shook the man’s hand.

When the elevator arrived, the security guard scanned his badge and punched the number three. He screwed up his face in thought. “You know, now that you mention it, I haven’t seen Mr. Marigold today. Doesn’t mean he’s not here. People slip by all the time.”

The door tried to close, and the man caught it with his foot.

“He’s quiet. Don’t think he much likes me, not like his partner.

Mr. Davis always stops for coffee in the mornings.

Chatty bugger.” The man chuckled. “I swear he plays hooky more than he works. Always down here, entertaining clients in the food court and telling me about his kids or that gorgeous wife of his. Not like Marigold. No, sir. Marigold hustles in and out like he’s always late. That man seems perpetually stressed.”