Free Beautiful Lie the Dead by Barbara Fradkin Page B

harm, but obviously even that was too strong for his unaccustomed brain.
    Now he gripped his head in his hands, hoping the sheer physical force would stifle the scream welling inside him and still the urge to run blindly from the house.
    How could he control how he acted, let alone what he said, in this disintegrating world?
    â€œHe mustn’t know!” His mother’s voice shafted through the fog of his mind. “I don’t care what you do, he mustn’t find out.”
    He bolted up in bed, his ears straining. Her voice dropped to an indecipherable murmur. The room spun as he struggled to regain his equilibrium. Scraps floated up from downstairs. Was she on the phone in the kitchen?
    â€œHundred thousand dollars,” she said. Then “Never...that woman...not that way...search warrants... I’ll meet you.” Silence, followed by a muffled voice he didn’t recognize. Not a phone call then, but a visitor. His mother moved towards the front hall and opened the front door. She sounded calmer as she said goodbye, as if she had resolved something, but before he could mobilize himself to demand an explanation, he heard the distant rumble of her car as she accelerated down the drive.
    He could hardly breathe. Who was she talking to and what the hell did all that mean? Who mustn’t find out? Who was “that woman’”? What was his mother trying to hide, and the most dreaded question of all, what did it have to do with Meredith’s disappearance?
    His head pounded with the effort needed to focus. His mother was a highly respected lawyer with a string of high profile wins and an unassailable reputation. She held herself and all around her to a high ethical standard. She had always taught him that right must prevail and that the moral high ground would be rewarded in the end. It seemed impossible that he was harbouring the fears he was, impossible that she could have strayed so far off course.
    * * *
    Green had called a briefing for noon that Thursday, anxious to follow up on leads and put the pieces together as quickly as possible. In the crowded incident room, the smell of stale coffee and the sound of murmuring voices and rustling papers filled the air. As police officers filtered in from the field, they draped their bulky parkas over their chair backs and rubbed their chilled hands to restore circulation. Once Gibbs had activated the smart board and pulled up the list of assignments, the search coordinator summarized the progress of the ground search.
    It was a brief report. Zero. The neighbourhood around her house had been gridded and searched, as had the blocks on either side of the bus routes she typically used. Meredith was nowhere around her usual haunts.
    Green turned to the computer specialist, who had just started on Meredith’s laptop and was working on accessing Facebook. He launched into an explanation of passwords and security settings, and Green’s mind was just beginning to glaze when Whelan came limping into the room. He was red-faced and breathless. Frost still clung to the scarf around his neck.
    â€œSorry I’m late, sir,” he began, looking more triumphant than sorry as he slapped a file down on the conference table. “We’re on the wrong track.”
    All heads turned, and Green abandoned the password conundrum in a flash. “Something to report, Whelan?”
    â€œI’ve been checking bank records. On Monday, our subject bought a return bus ticket to Montreal, leaving on the 10 a.m. bus and returning at 8:00 p.m.”
    All murmuring stopped. “She’s been confirmed on the bus?” Green asked.
    â€œNot yet. The bus company has to check the ticket stubs with the drivers of those buses. One is due in from Montreal at noon and the other at two.”
    Green riffled through his memory of the case but could turn up no connection to Montreal. “Anyone know any reason why our subject would make a day trip to