Free The Calling by Inger Ash Wolfe Page B

approached the bed. In it lay the ruined body of Michael Ulmer. “What was wrong with him?”
    “Less than there is now,” said Mathiessen. “He was taking something called Avonex, plus other things for his muscles and stuff. Detective Spere says he probably had MS.” Ray Greene finally stepped forward. “Poor bastard.”
    “I wonder how he got up the stairs. His walker’s still on the main floor,” said Wingate.
    “He carried him up the stairs?” said Greene, his brows raised. “That’s a pretty thoughtful killer.” Hazel shot a look at her new detective, and Wingate said nothing else. His theories were going to have to wait for a better moment.
    Ulmer was covered with blankets, as if he were sleeping, and there was a rise where his arms were crossed over his chest. Two huge circles of blood drenched the sheet atop his hands. “Can you pull those back?” asked Hazel, and the officer drew away the heavy blankets. “
God.
”
    Ulmer’s hands were like two balloons of blood. Just with the movement of the sheets being drawn away, they shook like jellies: The killer had taken a hammer to them. But the violence done to Ulmer’s hands was nothing compared to his head. His mouth had
been smashed in so thoroughly that the upper half of his jaw hovered like a dome over a soupy mass of teeth and tissue. The killer had hacked at each of the victim’s eyes and torn through the sockets laterally, opening up his head like a box top on both sides of his face. Then he’d staved the man’s skull in. “He’s not exactly subtle, is he?”
    “Has Ident finished?” Hazel asked PC Mathiessen.
    “I don’t know if they could ever finish, but yeah, it’s been photographed and swept. We were just waiting for you to bag him.”
    “Bag him then and get him out of here. Where’s the ambulance?”
    “There’s a guy in the alley. We figured we’d probably want to take him out through the back.”
    “Good idea.”
    Greene snapped off his gloves with disgust and tossed them into the hall. “Dare I ask if anyone saw anything?”
    “We spoke to some of the neighbors, and no one knows anything. But we haven’t done a canvass yet.”
    “And who notified you guys?”
    “PC Degraaf took a call before lunch. He says Ulmer had a home-care appointment at eleven but he didn’t answer the door.”
    “Who was the caller?”
    “We could find that out for you.”
    “You didn’t ask?” said Greene, incredulously.
    “He said Ulmer sometimes slept through his appointments.”
    “But he called the police, this man? If this was a normal occurrence, why would he call you?”
    Mathiessen shuffled his feet a little. “I don’t know. Maybe he didn’t want to have to circle back and check on Ulmer again. We sent a car out at three.”
    Greene was shaking his head in disbelief. “You didn’t want to interrupt his nap, I guess.”
    “Do we have a recording of this call?” said Hazel.
    The officer looked down. “Sorry, Chief. We’re not in the habit of doing that. And it was so fast . . . ”
    “Who’s your commanding?”
    Mathiessen leaned back a little and looked through the door. They all turned, but there was no one there. “We’re between commandings,” he said. “Our skip retired last year. Seventy-four years old. East Central promised us a new guy by the end of the summer, but you know how things are.”
    She certainly did. Was the OPS planning on leaving every detachment north of Toronto rudderless? There were great savings to be had in places where the population wasn’t large enough to make a noise. “So it’s you and Degraaf.”
    “We have a couple of volunteers.”
    “Good lord,” said Hazel. “You couldn’t break up a bar fight here.”
    Mathiessen looked sheepish. “Luckily, things are mainly peaceful hereabouts. This isn’t Ottawa, y’know.”
    “Well, whatever, let’s get this guy out of here now.”
    “Yes Ma’am.” He seemed to be happy to leave the room. She turned to Wingate, who was