Blood Trail

direction, you can spend tonight watching the tree."

    "Thank you very much. Just what I always wanted to do, spend the night out in the woods being eaten alive by mosquitoes." While you and Henry are comfy cozy inside? Not fucking likely. He glanced over at her and then back at the road. "Who says he'll go back to it?"

    "It's part of his pattern when the wind's off the field."

    "Then why don't you cut it down?"

    "I've thought about it."

    "While you're thinking about that, here's another one. If you know he keeps going back to that tree, why haven't you staked it out?"

    "How? You know I can't see a damned thing after dark. Besides, Henry went out. ..."

    "You sent a civilian!"

    "He volunteered!" Vicki snapped, ignoring the fact that she herself was now a civilian.

    "And did he volunteer to get shot?"

    "Henry's a grown man. He knew the risks."

    "A grown man. Right. And that's another thing, according to his driver's license, Fitzroy is only twenty-four years old." He took his eyes off the road long enough to glare at her. "You're almost eight years older than he is, or doesn't that ... What's so funny?"

    Although the vibrations were doing nasty things to the inside of her head, Vicki couldn't stop laughing. Eight whole years. Good God. Finally, the frigid silence on the other side of the car got through and she managed to get ahold of herself. Eight whole years. ... She took her glasses off and wiped her eyes on the shoulder of her shirt. "Mike, you have no idea of how little that matters."

    "Obviously not," Celluci grunted through gritted teeth.

    "Hey! Are we in hot pursuit or something? You just accelerated through a yellow light." Vicki took one look at the set of his jaw and decided the time had come to change the subject.
    "What could I possibly know that's worth killing to protect?"

    It wasn't the most graceful of conversational transitions but Celluci grabbed at it. He suddenly did not want to know what she'd been laughing at. At a full twelve years older than Henry fucking Fitzroy, he didn't think his ego was up to it. "If I were you, I'd have Carl Biehn and his nephew pulled in for questioning."

    "On what grounds?"

    "Someone thinks you're getting too close and they're the only someones you've talked to who haven't been cleared."

    "Well, you're not me." Vicki scratched at a mosquito bite on the back of her calf. "And in case you've missed the point, not only is this not a police case but we can't get the police involved."

    "They're already involved, or have you forgotten last night's reported gunshot wound?"

    "Queen Street. Turn here. Barry's apartment building is number 321." Pushing her glasses up her nose, she added. "The police only think they're involved. They haven't a clue about what's really going on."

    "And you don't think they'll find out?" he asked while swinging wide around the corner to avoid a small boy on a bicycle.

    Vicki spread her hands. "How are they going to find out? You going to tell them?"

    "They'll investigate."

    "Sure they will. The OPP'll swing around by the conservation area a little more frequently for a couple of weeks and then something more important than an accidental shooting'll come up for them to allot man-hours to."

    "But it wasn't an accident," Celluci pointed out, making an effort and keeping his temper.

    "They don't know that." Vicki forced herself to relax. Clenched teeth just made her temple throb and had no effect on the thickhead sitting next to her. "Nor are they going to find out."

    "Well, they're going to have to get involved when you find out who's doing the killing. Or,"
    he continued sarcastically, "had you planned on arranging an accident that would take care of everything?"

    "There." She pointed. "Three twenty-one. Sign says visitor's parking is in the rear."

    The silence around the words spoke volumes.

    "Jesus Christ, Vicki. You aren't going to bring this to trial, are you?"

    She studied the toes of her sneakers.

    "Answer me, damn it!" He slammed on the brakes and, almost before the car had stopped, grabbed her shoulder, twisting her around to face him.

    "Trial?" She jerked her shoulder free. God, he was so dense sometimes. "And what happens to the wer at a trial?"

    "The law ..."

    "They don't want the law, Celluci, they want justice and if the killer goes to trial they won't get it. You know as well as I do that the victim goes on trial with the accused. What kind of a chance would the wer have? If you're not white, or you're