Throckmorton was just coming through the cat door she’d installed when she adopted him. He’d been out for his morning ablutions. She opened a can for him and brewed coffee for herself. Then she remembered having asked Kevin Campbell for a visit, wondering what she’d been thinking. It was 9:45.
An hour later she was in the market at Richards Landing, the largest town on the island. On the way, she’d marveled at the change in the weather. For late May it was unusually warm, and it felt good to drive with the window down.
Richards Landing on a Sunday before the onslaught of summer cottagers is a quiet place. At 10am, only the grocery and the Anglican church down the road showed signs of life. She bought her usual weekly staples, plus a pair of steaks in the event things went well with Kevin Campbell.
~ * ~
He showed up shortly before noon, giving credit to Andy’s directions versus his GPS. “Somehow, it couldn’t decipher your fire-code house number and the ‘U-Line’ Road. It insisted on calling it Highway five-forty-eight.”
She’d set a table out on the wide porch that wrapped around the once humble farmhouse. A cold bottle of sauvignon blanc and thin-sliced Italian sausage served as a light lunch. The weather remained ideal. The maple trees were bright green with new growth. A heady aroma of pine drifted on a light breeze off Tenby Bay. Andy watched as her guest visibly relaxed.
“I can understand your driving all this way to and from the city every day,” he said.
“Yes. Not everyone appreciates that. I don’t think I could ever leave this place.” Her thoughts drifted, once more, to Grant Stacey’s one-time plans to sell everything and leave.
After their lunch they got into Andy’s Jeep for a tour. She showed him places even she hadn’t seen in years: the nineteenth century Fort St. Joseph that was instrumental in the 1814 defeat of the Americans at Fort Mackinac, the amazing gardens that had been carved out of virgin forest by the hands of a single family.
They followed the highway past the shipping channel and stopped to watch as one of the Great Lakes ore boats was making its way upstream to Lake Superior. A visit to the harbor at Hilton Beach discovered the first of the big sailing yachts arriving from their winter in the Caribbean or from storage.
Time flew. It was after six when they arrived back at Andy’s.
“There’s the guest loo, and there’s the bar. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll trot out something to nibble on while I make dinner. I hope you’re not a vegetarian.”
He allowed he was not. “Does this thing work way out here?” he said, pointing to the TV.
“I use it mostly for DVDs but yes, it pulls in the CBC and US stations from Sault Michigan.”
She was glad she’d bought the steaks, not being sure how the day would go, but they’d had a wonderful afternoon, enjoying each other’s company. Kevin Campbell was a genuinely nice guy. The steaks were on, the new potatoes were boiling, and she brought her wine into the front room to spend a few minutes with her guest.
Campbell had drawn a footstool close to the TV screen, staring intensely at the picture. The broadcast shifted to an ad, and he stood to peer out through the front window and the woods beyond.
“Kev? Something?”
He turned, switched off the TV. “No, just the news. Dinner ready?”
“In a few minutes. You looked so concerned.”
“No. Really. Wow! Really smells good in there. I’m starved!”
~ * ~
“Steak, spuds, and a great salad. You know how to treat a guy.”
They were having a brandy. Campbell had been pensive at dinner, but it had gone well. Andy was wondering what he might have in mind for later. She really liked him, but something got in the way of her wanting to jump in bed with the man…at least not tonight.
She was relieved when he said, “Andy, thanks for this. I’ve had a wonderful day away from it all, but it starts again tomorrow. I’d best be hitting the trail.”
She followed him to the porch where the chill of a Canadian night had already set in. He leaned to kiss her and, once again, it felt good—like more of the same wouldn’t be a bad idea at all.
~ * ~
Nolan Roberts had a hip on Andy’s desk, making a point of some sort to Arnold Terry when she arrived to work on the following morning. They turned their attention to her, sappy smiles and all.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Terry said.
“Have a nice day off?” Roberts said, still grinning.
She plopped her coffee thermos on the desk, forcing Roberts to stand. “You’ve both got something up your sleeves,” she said.
Roberts chuckled. “Someone overheard your plans for the weekend.”
“What plans?”
“A certain doctor,” Terry said. “As your dear friends, we feel you owe us the skinny.”
“You two ought to be ashamed, gossiping like a couple of hens.”
“C’mon, Blake,” Terry said. “You could do worse.”
“It was Alice, wasn’t it?” Andy said, referring to the secretary whose desk is near the break room.
“It doesn’t matter,” Roberts said. “Did you have a nice time?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. Now, can we talk about the case we’re working on?”
They both gave Roberts verbal updates on the past few days.
“So…what we think we know,” Roberts summarized, “is that this man Hobbs who attacked a competitive dealer also delivers dope for a local dealer, Savos. We need to find out how Savos is being supplied with this new source of pure fentanyl.”
“There are some interesting side bars that, if they pan out, could lead us farther along.”
Roberts looked to Terry, who shrugged. “Go on,” he said.
“This guy that Dr. Campbell told us about—he did odd jobs for Savos. It was his car the boy hid in to run away from home.”
Roberts said, “The kid everyone thought had been kidnapped?”
“That one. The guy—Eddie Hoyne—swears he loaned the car to his boss, Savos. Joe Riccia, who handled the case, believes him.”
Roberts folded his arms and sat back down on Andy’s blotter. “That kid’s father is some kind of developer, well connected. You think he was being supplied drugs?”
Terry flashed the opened business section of the morning’s paper. “Here’s the guy. He made a splash at a special Rotary-sponsored event yesterday afternoon. He wants to develop the waterfront. Making the rounds of all the business groups.”
Roberts read the caption: “Dale Urban’s Big Idea.” He handed the paper to Andy.
“That’s the kid’s old man,” Terry said.
Andy glanced at the picture of Dale Urban. “It may mean nothing, but it’s a funny coincidence of two unrelated cases having things in common.”
“I expect you’ll find out,” Roberts said as he left the office.
Andy waited until Roberts was well gone before pouring the coffee into two mugs. Their boss knew about his two detectives’ distain for the detachment’s coffee, but it would be a little much to dispense it in his presence.
Terry blew on the steaming mug and returned to his chair.
Andy stowed the thermos. “Let me see,” she said, taking her first sip, “you now know where Raymond Hobbs stays.”
“Yep. It’s a rental in Steelton. Three-bedroom bungalow with two-car garage. The place could use some upkeep.”
“So, what’s keeping us from arresting him for either assault or dealing drugs?”
“Thought you’d never ask, but first we’ve gotta find him. He’s never there. He might have another place to stay.”
“Let’s see what the neighbors say about this guy.”
“Your car or mine?” Terry inquired.
~ * ~
Terry parked his Buick in the driveway of an empty home sporting a FOR SALE sign that looked to have been there a long time. Andy knew Steelton to be a community of roughly twenty square blocks, built sometime after WWI. The modest homes are,
for the most part, well maintained except for the one where they parked and the one three doors away, where Terry had seen Hobbs’ truck in the driveway.
“You take that side,” Terry said, pointing across the street, “and we’ll work down two or three homes each side of that one with the empty trash can—that’s Hobbs’”
Andy walked across, finding the first two addresses unresponsive to her ring or knock. The third was directly opposite Hobbs’. The door was opened by a man supported by a walker and in his late seventies or eighties.
“Oh yah,” he said when he read Andy’s shield.
She requested his name. “Leo Simon,” he replied, adding that he was a recent widower, living alone for the time being.
She asked about what activity he might have noticed in the neighborhood that might have given him concern.
He had nothing much to report other than young kids driving too fast up and down the street. When asked specifically about the house across the street, he had more to say.
“Last few weeks I’ve been sittin’ out here on the porch with the nice weather and all, ya see.”
She waited until he got his thoughts in order.
“He comes around, maybe twice in that time. Puts his truck back there in the garage, and almost right away he hops in a black sedan driven by some woman. Happened a coupla times.”
“That’s all? He doesn’t come home every night?”
“Oh no! I’ve seen the truck maybe a half-dozen times!”
She thanked the man, gave him her card and continued down the street. Out of the three remaining homes she visited, two answered and had similar impressions but not as detailed.
Hobbs’ rented house was much like the rest of the block except for the sagging gutter over the front window and the lack of any sign of yardwork. The garage was detached and sat in the rear of the lot.
Terry met her on the way back to his car. His report consisted of only one piece of useful information, from Hobbs’ immediate neighbor next door.
“She didn’t even know Hobbs’ name. Tried to say ‘hello’ once but was rebuffed. She says the man rarely enters the house, just drops off the big blue truck from time to time.”
Andy said she heard similar reports, adding the information about the mystery woman and the description of her car.
Terry made a face. “I see a boring stakeout on one of these first nights.”
~ * ~
“You’ve barely said a word,” Terry remarked as he drove into the detachment’s lot.
“I’ve been thinking.” Andy released her seatbelt, grabbed her bag and made for the office as soon as the car braked to a stop.
“What’s the hurry!” Terry called after her, stepping out of the driver’s side.
“I’ve got an idea,” she called back before entering the building.
Andy recalled something about Hobbs’ record that was triggered by old Mr. Simon’s observations. She was already checking their file on Hobbs/Teacher when Terry walked in.
She reached for the land line, aware that Terry was eyeing her, wondering what she was up to. “Detective Turner, please,” she announced. “Tell him it’s Andrea Blake.” She waited.
A woman’s voice. “Inspector Turner on the line for you.”
“Andy!” the familiar voice followed. “How’s retirement?”
“Still working, Joe. Saving Northern Ontario from the bad guys.”
They chatted briefly, sharing memories. Turner, head of Investigative Services in Windsor, was once junior to Andy during her tenure there.
“Joe, I need some information on a murder charge against Raymond Hobbs, aka Teacher. He got off on an alibi. Did he have any females charged or associated with him while in Windsor?”
“Don’t know but can find out. It’ll take an hour or so.”
“Thanks Joe, and congrats on your promotion, you’ll be great.” She set the receiver down.
Terry said, “Calling in favors?”
“He doesn’t owe me. We went through a battle or two together. Joe was with me when I caught that knife in the ribs.” Andy had gotten in the way of a knife on her last assignment in Windsor almost eight years ago. She paid for it with a collapsed lung and a stint in the hospital shortly before quitting and “retiring” to St. Joseph Island.
“So, what’s all this about?” Terry said.
“A longshot. I’ll tell you when it comes to nothing, as I suspect.”
An hour hadn’t elapsed before she heard from Turner.
“No female co-defendants,” he reported.
“Damn. Okay thanks, Joseph.”
“Well, not so fast! It turns out the alibi on his murder charge was a woman; Muriel Gladys White. The investigators who worked the case believed she had a relationship with Teacher and was lying. They couldn’t prove it, though. He was never convicted.”
Andy thanked Turner again and disconnected.
“Sounds like he had something,” Terry said.
She told him the name. “I figured the woman Mr. Simon saw could be a local girl, or possibly a long-time girlfriend. If the cops in Windsor thought this woman was his lover, she may still be.”
“So—find out if or where this Ms. White lives and we may find our boy.”
“Exactly,” she said.
Terry grinned. “Much better than a stakeout in Steelton!”
Thirty
A simple search of the Sault phone book turned up “G. White” at the address of a Pine St. apartment complex. There were no Muriel or Gladys Whites listed.
A call to the apartment’s leasing company revealed that a Ms. White had rented the two-bedroom apartment twenty-three months earlier, paid her rent on time and had no issues under the terms of the lease.
“Doesn’t really sound like our girl,” Terry said. “Think I’ll reconsider the stakeout.”
“You go ahead. I’m going to pursue this until it fizzles out completely.”
She hadn’t had lunch and it was already two o’clock. A quickie at a drive-through would have to suffice. Andy drove Second line Rd. to Pine St., then south to the large apartment complex. She entered the foyer of one of the several entrances and found a bank of mailboxes and buzzers labeled only with the occupant’s name, but no apartment number. She pressed the one labeled WHITE and waited for a response that didn’t come. She tried another with the same result. It took the fourth attempt to hear a staticky “Yes?”
Andy identified herself and was buzzed up to apartment 2B.
“What is it, then?” the woman in her sixties asked after a careful inspection of Andy’s ID.
“I’d like to talk to your neighbor, Gladys White, but she’s not at home. Do you know if she works somewhere, or do you have a contact number for her?”
“That her name? Gladys?”
“She might go by the name Muriel as well.”
“I never heard her name,” the woman said. “I see her from time to time, but that’s all.”
Andy asked, “Which is her apartment?”
“That one. Two D at the end of the hall.”
“When you see her, is she alone?”
“No, usually with Mr. White, I think.”
“Mr. White,” Andy repeated.
“Well yeah, I guess.”
“Can you describe him?”
A wide smile appeared on the woman’s face. “Heck yeah, I can! He’s a big bloke. Not so tall as big, you know?” She extended her arms. “Not fat, though. All muscle.”
“Um…tattoos?” Andy suggested.
“Land sakes, yes!”
Andy reached in her bag and fished out the Hobbs photo that was obviously from a police lineup.
The woman’s eyes widened, “Oh dear! Yes, that’s him!”
“Nothing to be alarmed about Mrs.—”
“Jacklin.”
“Could you call me the next time you believe either of the two Whites are at home?”
“Are they in trouble?”
“Just give me a call. I’d lik
e to talk with them.”
Back on the street in her Jeep, Andy made a U-turn for the office and a chat with Terry about how they should proceed. Getting Hobbs/Teacher arrested would be a solid first step toward understanding how that insidious drug was being distributed.
~ * ~
It wasn’t hard to convince Terry that a stakeout at Gladys White’s apartment would have better luck in finding Raymond Hobbs than waiting for him at his Steelton house.
A man and a woman exited a black Lexus sedan that had just parked in a slot in front of the apartment. “When you’re right, you’re right,” Terry admitted
“I love it when you talk like that,” Andy said. She got on the radio and called Alice.
“Alice, tell the boss we have eyes on our subject. I think we could use some backup. He’s not likely to go quietly.”
It wasn’t ten minutes later that a patrol car pulled in behind Terry’s Buick. Once more, one of the constables was Tony Crucianni, along with a new man, James Terwilliger.
Terry said, “Tony, come with us. Jimmy, there’s no back door to these apartments, but the guy we’re after is only on the second floor. It’s not out of the question he drops out of a window to make a run for it out the back side of the building.”
Terwilliger understood and left to take up a position there.
“So, let’s do this,” Andy said. They wore protective vests emblazoned with POLICE across the back. Andy had gained access to the keypad code. They scaled the stairs to the second floor. “That’s it. Two D.”
Terry said, “Let’s try it the easy way.” He gave the door a polite knock - knock. Only a moment passed before the door opened a crack.
“Yes?” A woman’s voice.
“Police. Looking for—”
Crucianni’s foot prevented an attempt to slam the door shut.
Terry applied his own size 13 to the door and it flew open.
A surprised Raymond Hobbs sat in a recliner holding a can of Molson’s Canadian. The woman, a bleached blonde in her late thirties, sat sprawled on the floor where the opening door had landed her.
Crucianni rested his hand on a holstered weapon as Andy did the honors. “Raymond Hobbs, or Raymond Teacher, you are under arrest for the assault of Randy Parsons and for the dealing of illegal drugs.” She went on to read him his rights while Terry provided the handcuffs. It all took place without as much as a whisper from Hobbs. It was the girlfriend who screamed obscenities at them as Hobbs was led away.
Steel Town Page 14