The Filthy Few: A Steve Nastos Mystery Read Online Free PDF Page B

shadows, surrounded by thick, humid air.
    She realized that she was moving toward Walker, part of her knowing what had happened, part of her having no idea. With a click, the passenger-side door opened. And she realized that she was on the asphalt, in front of the pickup. When the door closed she saw him lying on the ground. The pickup drove past her at a high rate of speed but she gave it no attention until it screeched to a stop in front of her. She turned, seeing two men inside, the driver white, the passenger black, an expression of fear on his face. The white man barked something, maybe “Do it, come on!” but she couldn’t make it out; the language had become foreign to her. She began to repeat them in her head, to translate them when the passenger pointed a gun at her.
    The weapon began to tremble in his hand. She stared impassively as if she were watching a movie, then suddenly they were gone. The driver had hit the gas and the car lurched onto the lawn, through the trees where it lifted and dropped through the fog-laden field, the tail lights bouncing and fading until its tires caught pavement and it screeched into the night.
    All she could think about was Walker. She noticed that the people in the park were now gone, leaving nothing between her and Walker. She ran over to him. He was already dead. Pale, still. So skinny, if it had not been for the blood over his hands and stomach it might have looked like he had starved to death.
    The SUV was gone. Falconer noticed a man next to her, dog leash in hand. He leaned over Walker, examining him. He said something to her in English and the language was slowly returning to her but she said nothing to him and turned back to what was left of Walker, looking into his half-closed eyes. When he died he had taken her future with him. Frustrated by the confused look on her face he took out his phone and dialed a number.
    She had been around a lot of bad people since coming to Canada. The enslavers who swindled her here, drug dealers, the meathead bouncers in the clubs. Walker, she knew, was shot by policemen. The other men, they were well dressed, no visible tattoos, they weren’t street hoodlums. They were professional men, both the ones in the car and the ones in the SUV . The blond man in the passenger seat of the SUV had stared at her. Lifeless black eyes, emotionless. It was an expression she knew well. It was the way they scowled at you before they beat and raped you. Judging by the stakes, this time she knew it might be worse than a beating, worse than rape.
    She turned back to Walker, whose eyes had glazed over, his mouth hanging slack. All she could think was that he was dead and so was her only hope of a better life.
    She turned and ran without uttering one sound of remorse or surprise for the murder of her man. She squeezed her hands into fists, gouging herself with the car keys, barely feeling a thing. Tunnel vision, the sound of leaves and garbage crinkling under her feet, thick air filling her lungs. She had never run so fast in her life. Running away was a luxury that she took full advantage of, not slowing until she made it to the car.
    She fumbled with the keys to get in the door, and had the gas pedal floored before the engine turned over. She tore through the south gate at eighty kilometres an hour and never looked back.

4
    â€œI knew they would come after me. I saw the faces of the men who killed him. I can’t go to the police, they are the police. So I came to you.”
    Karen stopped the video. When the screen went dark there was still some light leaking in from around the curtains. Carscadden turned the small knob at the bottom of a table lamp, making it brighter without having to turn on the overhead fluorescents.
    Hopkins asked, “How long did they hold her prisoner?”
    â€œOver a year.”
    Hopkins mulled it over. “All she had to do was get to a police station.”
    Grant crossed her arms on the table.