Identity Withheld

By Marcelle Dube

AFTER A LIFETIME OF RUNNING FROM A MYSTERIOUS PAST, CLEO MUST NOW CONFRONT THE SECRETS THAT MIGHT KILL HER.

 

Fredericton, New Brunswick: The sleepy town in Atlantic Canada is only the latest stop for Cleo Brennan's nomad parents.

 

But Cleo's tired of drifting from town to town. At 23, she wants a permanent home. She plans to settle in Vancouver once she finishes university. Let her parents keep wandering if they want. She's done.

 

While she's long suspected that her parents are running from something—or someone—suspicion becomes fact when someone rams her parents' car into the river.

Now Cleo must discover the identity of the shadowy individual threatening her parents' lives… all while keeping an inquisitive detective at bay.

 

Then someone attacks Cleo and she must figure out, finally, what sent her parents running so long ago—before those behind the secret kill her.

 

Readers who enjoy strong characters who overcome overwhelming odds will love Cleo's story. 

 

Don't miss out on Identity Withheld, a standalone novel by the author of the Mendenhall Mystery series.

 

CONTAINS AN EXCERPT FROM THE SHOELESS KID, FIRST IN THE MENDENHALL MYSTERY SERIES.

 

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Marcelle Dubé is the author of the Mendenhall Mystery series and the winner of the Crime Writers of Canada Award of Excellence for "Cold Wave" in Crime Wave: A Canada West Anthology. She grew up near Montreal. After trying out a number of different provinces and living in the Yukon for over 35 years, she now lives in Alberta—which is much like the Yukon in all the ways that count.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Falcon Ridge Publishing
• Release date: Oct 15, 2021
• ISBN: 9781987937275

Marcelle Dube

Marcelle Dubé writes mystery, science fiction, fantasy, contemporary and—occasionally—romance fiction. She grew up near Montreal and after trying out a number of different provinces (not to mention Belgium) she settled in the Yukon, where people outnumber carnivores, but not by much. Her short stories have appeared in magazines and award-winning anthologies. Her novels include the Mendenhall Mystery series (a number of her short stories are also set in the world of Mendenhall Chief of Police Kate Williams) and The A'lle Chronicles, as well as standalone fantasy and mystery titles. Her work is available in print and in electronic format. To find out more about Marcelle, visit her at www.marcellemdube.com.  

Book preview

This is dedicated to Peter Dielissen, the original, the one and only, who is nothing at all like the Peter in the story but who really, really wanted to be a bad guy.

acknowledgements

My deepest gratitude goes to Alycia Bartlett, Public Information Officer at the Fredericton Police Force, for giving so generously of her time, knowledge and humour. Much appreciated. It goes without saying that any infelicities rest at my door, not hers.

And to the City of Fredericton, I offer my fond regards. Every time I visit, I long to stay in this lovely, historic city with the fabulous Saint John River running through it.

IDENTITY WITHHELD

CHAPTER 1

The cab’s headlights flashed on chrome and glass as it followed the long curving driveway before straightening and stopping under Chalmers Hospital’s large awning. Before the driver could come to a full stop, Cleo threw two twenty-dollar bills onto the front seat, mumbled her thanks, and scrambled out. Slinging her backpack over one shoulder, she ran up to the glass doors and pushed into the large entry. She barely paused to let the glass doors into the hospital proper slide open. The cab’s exhaust followed her in on the cold damp air of the mid-September night.

Inside, she stopped and automatically assessed her surroundings. A large desk sat just inside the entrance with a forty-something female security guard eyeing her quizzically. No handgun that Cleo could see. A metal and plastic stand with a hand sanitizer dispenser at the top. Could make a good makeshift weapon. She glanced over her shoulder but no one was coming into the hospital behind her.

In spite of being in a hospital, she could actually smell fresh air. Maybe it had come in with her, or maybe the place had a good ventilation system. The lights were muted, the feeling hushed.

This was definitely not the emergency room entrance.

Conscious of the security guard’s attention, Cleo approached the desk. The guard had gray hair, glasses, and a black uniform jacket. She looked fit.

ICU, said Cleo.

A resigned look replaced the wariness on the guard’s face. She nodded and placed her hand on the mouse next to her keyboard.

Name of patient? she asked.

One of the knots that had been tightening Cleo’s shoulders and neck since she got the call suddenly loosened. She appreciated someone who didn’t waste her time.

Sarah and James Brennan.

The woman typed the names in and read what popped up on her screen. She seemed to take a deep breath before looking up at Cleo.

You see the elevator just down the hall? She pointed. Turn left there and follow the signs to ICU. You’ll need to check in at the desk.

Cleo nodded and even remembered to say thank you before turning in the indicated direction and walking quickly toward the elevator. Her running shoes squeaked on the polished gray linoleum.

At the Intensive Care Unit she pushed open the door and found herself in a wide hallway with soft lighting.

In front of her was another desk, this one straight, about ten feet long, with an elevated portion at the front that was the perfect height for a standing person to use as a writing shelf. She couldn’t see anyone seated at the desk but the elevated part could be hiding someone.

She glanced down the short hallway past the desk and noted four closed doors, three on one side and one on the other. A picture window at the far end reflected back the dim lights of the hallway. And next to the window, tucked into the corner by the door, was a straight-backed chair with a police officer sitting in it, arms crossed over his chest, staring at her.

Cleo stared back at him, her stomach doing a slow flip.

Can I help you?

The soft voice startled her so badly she jumped and whirled, arms up protectively. An older woman in pale blue cotton pants and a flowery short-sleeved tunic over a white long-sleeved shirt smiled gently at Cleo. She had a clipboard clasped to her chest.

Her pale frizzy hair was swept back in a bun at the back of her head and her blue eyes radiated laugh lines. She came up to Cleo’s shoulder but carried herself with confidence and authority.

Sarah and James Brennan, said Cleo. I’m their daughter.

The smile left the woman’s eyes. She nodded.

May I see some identification, please?

Cleo blinked at the request. Somehow, she hadn’t expected to have to identify herself. Without a word, she removed the backpack from her shoulder and set it on the desk. She pulled the British Columbia driver’s license from her wallet and handed it to the nurse, who examined it and handed it back.

As Cleo put her wallet away, she noticed that the police officer at the far end had risen to his feet. She glanced at the nurse just in time to see her nod to the officer.

What’s going on? she asked sharply.

The nurse turned her full attention to Cleo. She examined Cleo’s face for a moment before turning away.

Let’s find somewhere to sit down.

Cleo’s hand latched onto the woman’s arm, stopping her.

Tell me. Every fiber of her being braced itself, even as she willed the woman to speak.

The nurse hesitated a moment, then nodded. She placed a hand over Cleo’s.

It’s your father, Ms. Brennan. He didn’t make it.

HUGH TURNED LEFT AT the elevators and automatically glanced at his watch. Two-thirty in the morning. Pretty much what he’d expected.

He stifled a yawn as he walked toward the nurses’ station, his heels thumping hollowly. Despite the cardboard sleeve that was supposed to protect his hand, the hot coffee in the Tim Hortons cup was making itself felt. He switched the cup to his left hand.

Sue Wannamaker was on duty tonight. She was a short little thing and it wasn’t until she stood up that he saw her behind the desk.

Hugh, she said gravely.

Sue, he acknowledged. Alone tonight?

She shook her head. George is with our only patient.

After so many years with the Fredericton Police Department, Hugh knew many of the staff at Chalmers Hospital. It came from too many nights standing around the ICU and the Emergency Department, waiting to talk to witnesses or perpetrators.

At the far end of the hallway, Hector Gomez nodded at him from his spot by the door to the ICU room.

Is she in there? Hugh asked Sue.

She sighed softly.

Yes, she’s in with her mother.

Hugh squeezed Sue’s shoulder and headed for Hector. The older man had drawn the short straw for overnight guard duty but he looked alert enough when he stood up and moved away from the door.

He accepted the coffee with a nod of gratitude.

All quiet? asked Hugh.

Yes. Hector took a cautious sip, then removed the lid to let the coffee cool down faster. She’s been in there about forty-five minutes.

How did she react to the news?

Hector shrugged and glanced back at the door. A narrow vertical window allowed medical personnel to glance in without disturbing the patients.

She took it quiet, said Hector. No crying, no screaming. She just listened to the nurse, then came to ask me why I was here. I told her she’d have to talk to you. She didn’t argue, just went in. I haven’t heard a peep since.

Hugh nodded. Thanks, Hector. He took a deep breath and walked over to the door. He pushed it open quietly.

Four beds filled the room. All the curtains were pulled open, revealing three empty beds and one occupied one. That bed commanded the darkened room, even though the woman in it almost disappeared under the white blankets. Only a night light by the door provided illumination, but it was enough to see that Mrs. Brennan looked exactly the same as the last time he’d checked in. A nasal cannula fed her oxygen while an IV drip fed her medicine and fluids. There was other equipment hidden under her blanket—those he preferred not to think about. A thick pad covered most of her forehead, with white gauze bandages wrapped around her head to keep the pad in place. Her hair was silver. He knew she had a broken arm, but the cast, too, was hidden under the blanket.

George, the nurse, was standing by her bed, tablet in hand, making notations from the equipment beeping softly around the patient. He looked up at Hugh’s arrival and nodded. Without a word, he left the room.

On the other side of the bed, a shadow unfolded from the chair and Hugh turned his attention to the daughter.

Cleo Brennan?

The woman stepped around the bed and walked toward him. She was a tall one, maybe a couple of inches shy of his six feet, and seemed to be all legs and angles. Her dark hair was short and shaggy, as if she’d been running her hands through it. She wore jeans and a white tee-shirt in the warm room.

Yes, she said. Her voice was deeper than he had expected. You?

Detective Constable Hugh Ondrak, Fredericton Police. He stuck his hand out and she gave it a firm shake. Just one, then she released it. He was left with an impression of solidity and strength.

Why are the police guarding my mother?

He wanted to smile at her directness, but this wasn’t the time. He glanced at the still figure in the bed.

Why don’t we go somewhere and I can fill you in?

For the first time, he sensed hesitation in her. She, too, glanced at her mother. She shook her head.

I don’t want to leave her.

They have your number, he said. They’ll call if there’s any change. I’m just taking you down the road. He didn’t want to discuss this in front of the unconscious woman. He didn’t know if she could hear or not, but he didn’t want to take a chance. And he wanted to get the daughter away from the sights and sounds—and smells—of the hospital.

Brennan was still for a moment, then nodded.

All right, she said. But first, I want to see my father.

Hugh barely controlled a wince. He had seen her father. It wasn’t a good idea.

The morgue is closed right now, he said gently. You’ll have to wait until morning.

She eyed him for a long, silent moment before finally going back to the chair and grabbing her sweatshirt and backpack.

THE BRIGHT LIGHTS OF the Tim Hortons coffee shop seemed to glare indecently as the detective pulled into the empty parking lot. Maybe there weren’t many places open at this time of night in Fredericton. It wasn’t a big town from what she’d seen flying in. At least the coffee shop looked empty. And it was close to the hospital.

A massive shiver coursed over Cleo as she left the warmth of the detective’s cherry-red Honda Accord. The car had to be his. She couldn’t imagine any police department anywhere that would spring for a cherry-red car.

It was colder here than in Vancouver. More humid. She could smell water and wondered where the Saint John River was.

She’d never been to Fredericton before. Her parents had moved here a few months ago—their fourth move since she’d gone away to university. She’d lost track of how many cities they’d lived in as a family. Dozens. Many dozens.

Once she got her degree in engineering and technology—one more year—she would get a job in Vancouver and stay there. Let her parents keep moving, if they wanted. She was done.

Only now Dad was dead.

Cleo took a steadying breath and clamped down on the feelings that threatened to overwhelm her. Not now.

Detective Ondrak held the door to the coffee shop open and Cleo hesitated a moment before going inside. She didn’t want to sit in the brightly lit shop, with no cover or protection from outside eyes. Then she sighed. The caution was ingrained now, based on years of watching her parents’ concern and near-paranoia. She had never understood why they were so cautious all the time. As a teenager, she had rebelled against it. But the caution returned at the most awkward times—especially when she was stressed. She had always thought her parents were a little weird.

Now she wondered if they had been right to be distrustful.

She glanced around and found a corner table that at least had no windows on either side.

The detective headed for the counter and the only other person in the whole place, a kid who couldn’t be more than sixteen years old. The kid put his phone away and grinned at the detective.

Moments later, Ondrak carried a small tray with two white mugs and a couple of donuts on a plate back to the table. He handed her one of the mugs and pushed sugar packets and creamers at her.

Thanks, said Cleo. She tore open one of the packets and poured it into the coffee, along with a creamer. She took a sip and almost closed her eyes in bliss.

You’re welcome, said Ondrak, pushing over the two donuts. Eat.

She glanced at him and he nodded at the donuts, as if giving her permission. Only then did she realize how hungry she was. She polished them off before he could change his mind.

At last, she sat back and examined him.

He wore a brown leather jacket over a black crew neck sweater and black slacks. She would have expected a detective to wear a suit and tie, but maybe the dress code was more relaxed at this time of day. Night. He had kind eyes, she decided after a moment. Bloodshot and brown. Brown hair balding in a widow’s peak. Not really handsome, but a strong face. Attractive, in an older man kind of way. He looked to be in his late forties. Not much younger than Dad.

The pain stabbed through her and she almost gasped. Instead, she took a deep breath.

I’m ready, she said.

He studied her face for a moment, as if guessing her distress. Then he blinked and moved on.

Yesterday evening, he began, then stopped. Saturday evening, he began again, your parents were in a car crash. Well, that much she knew. Cleo waited patiently while he marshaled his thoughts. What we’ve learned since we began investigating is that it wasn’t an accident. Someone rammed their car and shoved them over the edge of the road into the river.

Cleo stared at him, her lips parting as she tried to get oxygen into her lungs. But as shocked as she was, she couldn’t honestly say she was surprised.

Who? she demanded. The donuts had turned to stone in her stomach.

He shook his head.

We don’t know. Witnesses gave us a description of the car and someone even took a picture of the license plate, but it was pointless. We found the car abandoned just outside of town. It had been stolen.

She forced herself to breathe deeply, calming herself. Was this what they had been afraid of all these years?

Dad drowned? she asked, even though the nurse had said he was still alive when he got to the hospital.

Ondrak shook his head.

No. At least, he didn’t stay drowned.

Cleo frowned at him and he rubbed his face with his hands, as if trying to wake himself up.

Sorry, he murmured. I’m not doing a good job of this. He took a sip of his black coffee and sat back. Someone saw what happened and jumped into the river to help. He pulled your mother out first. She was unconscious and bleeding where she’d hit her head on the side window. By the time he got your dad out, more people had arrived and were doing CPR on your mother. They did CPR on your dad until the ambulance arrived. They got his heart restarted but he was pronounced dead at the hospital.

Cleo placed her trembling hands in her lap, where the detective couldn’t see them. Had Mom and Dad panicked when they realized whoever had been chasing them all these years had finally caught up to them?

Can you think of any reason why someone would want to kill your parents? asked Detective Ondrak softly.