One

Detective Josh Kanner squinted as he peered down the alley. A reluctant winter dawn washed the eastern sky in dusty rose, but its light barely penetrated the narrow gap between the buildings. The only light came from the flashing red and blue strobes of the cruisers parked in the street behind him. Guided more by the murmur of voices up ahead than by sight, he felt his way over the rutted ice.

Before he reached the end of the alley, he could see flashlights playing off the brick wall of another alley to the left. He stopped at the turn to take in the scene. Half a dozen patrol officers stood in a semicircle, blocking his view of what lay on the ground. Perimeter tape had been strung across the entrance to the alley, and the duty sergeant was talking on his phone. Silence fell when Josh appeared, and the duty sergeant moved roughly to intercept him. Josh fumbled for his badge wallet with frozen fingers.

“Josh Kanner, Homicide.” He nodded at the officer setting up the cordon. “That needs to be farther back — at the street entrance and at every other entrance.”

“McPhee,” the sergeant said, giving him a steely stare. The man looked classic old-school, right down to the buzz cut and the beer paunch, and his face betrayed an indifference honed by years of keeping order on the streets. He was probably twenty years Josh’s senior and had seen plenty of young bucks heading eagerly up the ladder.

Josh met his stare. Eventually, the sergeant flicked his finger toward the end of the alley, and the patrol officer scurried off, unspooling his tape.

“Coroner on his way?” Josh asked.

The sergeant nodded.

“Ident?”

Another nod.

Josh gritted his teeth. He was determined to get this right. When his phone rang at six o’clock in the morning, he’d been tempted to hit “decline” so he could savour ten more minutes before he had to get up. At the sound of Sergeant Gibbs’s voice, he’d bolted awake. Was he late for the Monday morning briefing? Had his alarm screwed up? Instead, Gibbs had surprised him by sending him directly to a call that had just come in about a body found in an alley in the Britannia area.

It was the first time since he’d joined the Homicide Unit that he’d been assigned as lead in a potential death investigation instead of being part of a team working one of the endless gang shootings. If it turned out to be anything more than natural causes, it would likely be taken away from him, but for now, he was in charge.

Act like it, Kanner, he told himself. You know the drill, you’re smart, and you can think on your feet. He faced the sergeant’s implacable stare. Just the faintest hint of a smile twitched the corners of the man’s lips. The bastard was enjoying the discomfort he caused.

“What do we know so far, Sergeant?”

“Deceased is a white female, approximately sixty-five to eighty years of age, medium height and weight, shoulder-length white hair, dressed in a navy winter coat.”

Josh felt a twinge of disappointment. Not the type of person likely to be the victim of foul play unless it was a mugging gone bad. Possibly an elderly wanderer who got caught out in the cold.

“Any ID on her?”

McPhee shook his head.

“Did you check her pockets?”

McPhee gave him a long stare. “Nothing.”

“Any visible signs of injury?”

McPhee shook his head again. “But without moving the body … We’re waiting on the coroner.”

Josh gestured to the circle of officers. “Would you step aside so I can see her?”

They did, playing their flashlights over the ground and affording Josh a glimpse of a shape crumpled against the wall. Her face, drawn and pale in death, was a web of wrinkles, and a lock of white hair fell forward across her forehead.

“Who reported it?”

“Anonymous phone tip.”

He sighed. The Comm Centre might have a phone number they could trace, but he wasn’t holding his breath. He glanced at the surrounding walls, all solid brick without windows, doors, or surveillance cameras that he could see. Nothing to witness her sad end.

“What are these buildings? Residences?”

Sergeant McPhee cocked his head at the building she was lying against. “Low-rent businesses. The one opposite is a small apartment building, also low-rent.”

Josh nodded. Everything in the neighbourhood was low-rent and home to new Canadians, single parents, seniors, and others struggling to stay above the poverty line. The small businesses would mostly be family-run and one bad month ahead of bankruptcy.

Not the kind of neighbourhood that eagerly volunteered information to the police. His phone showed 7:02 a.m. “Get these officers out to do a quick street canvass.”

“Might be a waste of time. Shouldn’t we wait for the coroner?”

Josh bristled. He knew the man had a point, but he was damned if he’d admit it. He at least had to appear to take action. “No worse waste of time than them standing around here. I want to catch potential witnesses before they leave for work.”

The sergeant shrugged before strolling over to speak to the officers nearby. Unlike their sergeant, they looked eager to escape the sad presence of the dead woman and do something productive. Josh edged over as far as he dared to study the woman.

He had an eye for fashion, and he could see the boots and gloves were leather and her coat was a well-cut, expensive wool. He shone his light over the area. There was no sign of a purse unless she was lying on it. Her elegant cloche hat was lying beside her, and the top buttons of her coat were open, exposing a delicate blue sweater and a small pendant that looked like gold. He aimed his flashlight and thought he detected the flash of gold earrings beneath the sweep of white hair. Not a vagrant, then, or the victim of a mugging, unless the thief had only wanted her purse.

His mind ran through possibilities. How long had she been lying here? Maybe all weekend if no one was in the buildings. She could have fainted or fallen on the ice and frozen to death. But what was she doing in the alley in the first place? Maybe she suffered from dementia and wandered away from her home in the dead of night.

He turned to the sergeant and gestured farther down the alley. “Where does this lead?”

“Cuts through to the street behind. It’s all residential streets back there.”

He considered her expensive clothes. “Nice houses?”

McPhee snorted. “In this neighbourhood?”

Her coat was worn at the cuffs and collar, suggesting she may have fallen on leaner times. It was still possible she lived in one of the houses and wandered away. A line of inquiry to follow up once the coroner and Ident took over the scene. Meanwhile, he pulled out his phone to report to Bob Gibbs. As he spoke, his gaze drifted to the dead woman’s face. To her eyes, which bulged slightly, and her lips, parted as if to cry out. In her last moment, had she been afraid? Had she called for help? And why, in this frigid February weather, was her coat unbuttoned?