by Ken Ogilvie
Rebecca waved at Daisy and headed out to O’Reilly’s office. On her way over, she passed Georgie’s Pub. Hadn’t she said she’d meet Freddie there at five? But there was an afternoon of work to get through first, including a call to Cartwright. She spotted O’Reilly’s Chevy parked in the near-empty lot of the station. Good. She wanted to be alone when she spoke to Cartwright. O’Reilly had reluctantly given her an office key, so she was able to get in.
She hurried to his private room and dialled Cartwright’s number.
“What’s up, Rebecca? You’re not due to report back until tomorrow. Is O’Reilly misbehaving?” Cartwright’s mocking tone made her feel suddenly protective towards the chief.
“Sir, something bad has happened. O’Reilly found out I’m assessing him and his office. He knows his job’s on the line. He confronted me with it this morning.”
“What? How did he find out?”
“I don’t know. Someone in Orillia must have told him.”
“Impossible. Only four people know about it — you, me, Sykes, and the commissioner. I had to tell Hardy in case Sykes files a complaint. I got a right royal dressing down but at least I’m covered. Wait. The commissioner and O’Reilly go back a long way. I’ll bet O’Reilly called him. Anyway, don’t worry. Just continue with your assignment.”
“Yes, sir.”
There was a brief pause. “What about the McBride case? Any progress?”
“Not much yet, sir. I’m pursuing a new line of investigation. I’ll brief you later, if you don’t mind.”
“Okay. Just let me know if anything important turns up. I’m busy this weekend but I’ll come to Conroy on Monday and have it out with O’Reilly. You can give me an update then. Your week will be over, but I guess I can allow you three more days if you need it. I’ll clear it with Sykes.” He paused. “Actually, I’ll just tell him.” Rebecca heard a faint chuckle. Her heart sank at the prospect of Cartwright turning up.
“Do you have to come here? Can’t you just call O’Reilly?”
He spoke gently. “I’m not checking up on you, Rebecca. It’s just that I miss you. I want to see you again.”
Rebecca shifted in her chair. “Jonathan, our relationship can’t be anything other than professional. You know that.”
“Okay then, we’ll leave that subject for another time. And don’t worry,” his voice turned icy, “I’ll deal with O’Reilly.”
Rebecca put a hand to her head. “Yes, sir. See you on Monday. But the investigation’s my responsibility. Don’t interfere, unless I call on you.” Yikes! What was she saying?
He laughed, softly. “Just remember that I’m the superintendent, Constable Bradley.” The line went dead.
Now what should she do? Cartwright had to back off. She would never resume their affair. Sooner or later his obsession with her would create trouble for both of them. But he didn’t seem to care.
Outside the office, a squeal of brakes heralded O’Reilly’s return. Rebecca leapt from his chair and out of his room just as he came through the door.
“Well, DC Bradley, I hope you’ve had a productive day so far. Case solved?” His eyes twinkled. Was he teasing her?
“Getting close, Constable O’Reilly. Find out anything new at Georgie’s?”
“Beer’s fresh,” he said. “Otherwise, nothing. People here don’t like outsiders poking about in their town.”
Rebecca ignored the barb. “How long have you been here, Constable O’Reilly? I get the feeling you’re not a native yourself.”
He glowered at her. “Am I a suspect now?”
Damn. She’d made another gaffe. “Just curious, that’s all. And no, you’re not a suspect.” What a short fuse he had.
“Then leave it. You don’t have to know anything about me or my past.”
Rebecca shrugged. “I was just trying to make conversation. But I do have some questions to ask you about the investigation.”
He seemed to relent. Slightly. “All right. Ask away, Acting Detective Constable Bradley.”
Rebecca wondered if they would ever get along. “First, I’m pleased to inform you that Superintendent Cartwright will be visiting us on Monday morning. Should I pick up coffee and doughnuts on the way to the office, or will you take him to Duffy’s?”
He snorted. “I’ll buy some half-price doughnuts this evening and leave them out to get stale.”
She gave him a cool look. “By the way, I met Sally this morning. We had lunch at Duffy’s.”
“Cream of broccoli soup.” He smiled. She’d never met anyone who had such rapid mood swings — other than Cartwright, but he had medical issues. O’Reilly could shift from happy to angry and back again in seconds. She couldn’t do that. Once she got angry, she stayed that way.
O’Reilly licked his lips. “I’m off, right after I make a couple of calls.”
Rebecca laid a hand on his forearm. “One quick question, please. You must know Freddie Stafford and Archie MacDougall. They board at Maggie’s. What can you tell me about them?”
He stared at her hand, and she took it away. She would have to stop doing that. “I told you before, I know everyone in this town. Freddie’s a great guy. Been here for seven or eight years. And Archie, well, he’s my only exception. Nobody knows him, other than Maggie. He’s rather closed, if you get what I mean. He’s been here off and on for nigh on two decades, but he goes away for months at a stretch. When he’s in town he does odd jobs for the local businesses. Freddie lines up clients at the hardware store. I don’t understand what Archie gets out of this place, but then I don’t know where else he’d fit in, apart from a logging camp or a mine site.”
“So far, all I’ve heard him say is hello, goodbye, and thank you,” Rebecca said.
O’Reilly snorted. “You’re doing well. Never heard him say thanks. But you’ll have to quiz me another time. I have to get to Duffy’s before the soup’s gone.” He dashed from the office without making his calls and, Rebecca noted, avoiding further questions.
She thought about the little he had told her. Logging camps and mines were the kinds of places she would expect to meet someone like Archie MacDougall, not Conroy. But this town seemed to have more than its fair share of people with hazy pasts — Archie, Maggie, Hound, Herman, and perhaps even O’Reilly himself.
Chapter 13
Bumped into DI Cartwright in the hallway. He winked and smiled at me. Now I know for sure he likes me. I’ll be at his lecture later today. Thinking of asking him for coffee after. He could be a real help with my career plans.
— The diary of Rebecca Sarah Bradley (2003)
Rebecca sat at the small desk outside O’Reilly’s office and sorted through her notes. Mid-afternoon, the chief came in, darted a furtive look at her and hurried into his office, closing the door behind him. She heard him talking on the phone. Her questions would have to wait.
She thought about her investigation. Abigail’s death could be linked to her husband, Kingsley, and Herman Vogel, and possibly Hound, given his close relationship with her. O’Reilly might also be involved in some way, given his notetaking lapses and his reaction to her question about his past.
Something dodgy was going on in Conroy, Rebecca was sure of it. And she had a strong hunch that O’Reilly knew what it was. Kingsley McBride could be mixed up in it too. She’d been wrong to leave him off her list of suspects just because Cartwright had cleared him last year. She wondered what deep secrets Kingsley was hiding.
At half past four, she rapped on O’Reilly’s door.
“What?”
“I’m leaving for the day.” She hovered outside his office.
“Humph.”
Miserable cuss. He needed a kick in the ass. Rebecca slammed the door behind her, and then headed along Main Street to Georgie’s Pub. She looked around for any sign of Butch. He was high on her list of people of interest. If there was shady business going on in Conroy, he would be involved – she’d put money on it. But what could it be? All she had to go on were O’Reilly�
�s curious notetaking oversights, and his evasiveness concerning Herman Vogel and himself. Then there was that disturbing connection to her family, no doubt through her grandfather, Steven Bradley, and his dubious goldmining shares. The puzzles were piling up.
Rebecca now saw that Conroy was very different from her hometown. Prospect had secrets, but everyone pretty much knew what was going on and who was doing it. It seemed that in Conroy few people knew about any activities at all, legal or illegal, not even Sally Partridge. And unveiling Conroy’s secrets might be dangerous. Rebecca suspected that this seemingly simple place had a dark underbelly.
Georgie’s was dank and sour-smelling, the perfect setting for shady deals. She spotted Freddie in a corner, drinking beer with a young girl who looked underage. Rebecca had done that very thing as a teenager, but she was a cop now.
Freddie looked in her direction and shot to his feet. “Rebecca! You actually came.” He glanced at his companion, who sat staring at the table. “Uh, Rebecca, meet Bridget. Rebecca’s the famous detective everyone’s talking about.”
Bridget turned an angelic face to Rebecca and gave her a shy smile. She looked at Freddie, and he cleared his throat. “Well, Bridget. Guess I’ll see you later then.”
“Okay, Freddie.”
Bridget got up obediently and scuttled off.
“Giving extracurricular lessons, Freddie?” Rebecca pulled out a chair and sat facing him. “Please don’t let me see that again.”
“Yes, ma’am, but don’t look at me that way. It’s not what you think.” He hunched over his drink.
Rebecca wasn’t so sure, but changed the subject for now. “Well, weren’t you going to buy me a beer?”
Freddie called out, “Harry! A pint of your finest ale, on the double.” Then he sank into his seat.
“Thanks, Freddie. Now, let’s talk. I went to the Royal Oak today, and a mean-faced punk ogled me from across the street. He followed me to Duffy’s and kept staring through the window at me. Turns out it was Butch Taylor, the mayor’s son. What do you know about him?”
Freddie grimaced. “Bad news. Stay clear of him. He scares the hell out of most people. Never bothered me, but I wouldn’t want to meet him alone at night.”
“Has he lived here his entire life?” Rebecca reminded herself to ask O’Reilly if Butch had a criminal record.
Freddie shrugged. “As far as I’m aware. Better to ask someone else though.”
“Does he know Abigail McBride’s husband, Kingsley?”
“I think so. Kingsley handles most of the town’s financial affairs, including the mayor’s. Butch must’ve met him, but I’ve never seen them talk. Never seen him talk to Mrs. McBride either.” He ran a hand through his hair.
“You’ll have to do better than that if you want to be my Baker Street Irregular. See what you can find out about Butch, but discreetly. I don’t want him to know I’m checking up on him. And don’t tell O’Reilly.”
“I’ll see what I can do, but I’m not a trained investigator, you know. Where should I start?”
“Good question. Just keep your ears open. You meet lots of people at the hardware store. When you can, ask questions about Butch. Get them to talk. I want to know what he does when he’s out of town.”
“Okay, I’ll do my best.”
Harry set down Rebecca’s glass. He didn’t look at her. He had a shaggy mane of hair, a straggly beard, and curly brown hair on his forearms. She stifled a smile. She turned to Freddie, hoisted her glass and saluted. “To your success in the detective business.”
He drained his half-filled glass and yelled, “More beer! On the double, or I’ll drink at someone else’s joint.”
“Yeah, go enjoy the Orillia saloons, asshole,” Harry growled from behind the bar.
Freddie stiffened and turned to Rebecca. “You’re a barrel of laughs, aren’t you. Are you always this much fun to be with? What’s next, fingernail inspection?” He rubbed his hands on his thighs.
She forced a smile. “Sorry, Freddie. I really am way too serious.” Feeling suddenly sorry for herself, she thought of her mother’s horrible death and the trauma she had suffered. Was it any wonder she wasn’t much fun? She shook her head. “It’s five o’clock now, and I’m off duty. What do you want to talk about? Sports? Fishing? Surely not politics?”
“I don’t know. I was having a good day until a minute ago.”
“All right, I’ll be nice. Tell me about Conroy. How come you stay in this place?”
His eyes met hers. “Because life is simple here. Cities are complicated, they’re impersonal. I know lots of people in Conroy. When I hang out on the street, folks stop to talk. No one’s in a rush.”
“I understand. Sometimes I miss that too, but I like the fast pace of big cities. I enjoy Toronto, or even better, New York.”
“You can have them. Give me Conroy any day.” His beer glass was still empty, and he shot a nasty look at Harry. “What do you want to know? There’s not much to tell.”
“Maybe there isn’t, but I grew up in a small town. There was always something going on. Wasn’t always nice, either.” An image of her mother’s strangled body flashed into her mind and she had to force it back.
“That’s true here too.” Freddie spoke slowly. He looked concerned. He must have seen the pain on her face. “But people keep their affairs to themselves, despite all the gossip that goes on at Duffy’s. You might think nothing at all was happening, and then you might wish you didn’t know.”
“What do you mean?”
Freddie hesitated, tapping his fingers on the table. Was he afraid? “Okay,” he said. “Take Bridget, for instance.” He stopped and looked as though he wished he hadn’t spoken.
Rebecca leaned across the table. “Go on.”
“I know you thought I was flirting with Bridget when you came in. And maybe I was a bit, because she’s a pretty girl. The thing is, I’m trying to help her. We were talking about her family situation. I won’t go into it since it’s something O’Reilly should deal with.”
“Perhaps, Freddie, but try me.”
He frowned. “All right. But don’t let anyone know.”
“Depends on what you say.” Rebecca knew he’d tell her anyway.
He licked his lips. “All right, then. I think Bridget’s being hit on by her father. She won’t come straight out with it, but she trusts me. She’s starting to hint at things. I don’t know enough to tell O’Reilly yet, but I will soon. I just hope you haven’t scared her off.” He glared at Rebecca.
“Sorry I came so early.”
He smiled thinly. “It’s not your fault. I know what it looked like. I’m not immune to a pretty face, but I would never take advantage of a kid.”
“Maybe she’s not such a kid.”
“Yeah, she’s growing up way too fast. Something has to be done. Chief O’Reilly can take care of it. He’s a good cop, but I can get the story faster than him. One more meeting should do it.”
“Tread carefully, Freddie. You aren’t trained for this sort of thing. Just report your suspicions to O’Reilly. Let him handle it.”
Freddie looked hurt for a moment. “I guess you’re right.” He paused. “Okay, I’ll tell him.”
“I’m serious about this, Freddie, because if you don’t, I will.”
“Just leave it to me, all right?” he snapped. She was losing him again.
“Good, then, that’s settled. Let’s get back to Conroy. What wouldn’t I see here, coming from outside?” She patted his wrist. “Come on, Freddie. I need your help.”
He grunted. “Well, there’s Bridget, like I said, and drugs, same as any small town. Butch figures into that. The odd case of domestic violence, though not much that I know of. Oh yeah, and land speculation.” He clapped a hand over his mouth. He really did have an incurable case of speak first, think later. Very useful. Rebecca smiled at him encouragingly.
He wriggled in his chair. “All right then, damn it. There were strangers came through Conroy last year, severa
l times. Three men in a limousine. They stayed overnight at the Royal Oak. They met with Kingsley McBride, and sometimes Mayor Taylor. I also saw them with O’Reilly, just once. They were arguing.”
“Hmm. Not such a quiet place then.” Now she had new information on O’Reilly. Maybe Cartwright was justified in being suspicious of him. The man wasn’t a fool, even if he behaved like one at times.
Freddie perked up. “Yeah, and now that I think of it, a few months ago I went to Orillia and I saw Butch talking to a couple of the limo guys. The same ones that came here.”
“Can you describe them?” Rebecca took out her notebook.
He shrugged. “I’m not good at that sort of thing. Except one of them. He stood out from the rest. A monstrous man with curly dark hair and the face of a boxer who’s had his mug punched too often. Has a jagged scar on his neck, a knife attack I’d guess, something like that.”
Rebecca froze. This had to be Guido Daglioni, the bodyguard of Marco Perez, a southern Ontario crime boss who occasionally visited Orillia. Both men were involved in drugs, gambling, prostitution, and money laundering. Dangerous men, well known within the police force.
“Why would thugs like that be interested in Conroy?”
“Beats me.” Freddie fidgeted with his shirt buttons. “O’Reilly probably knows what they were up to.” He glanced at his watch.
“Perhaps, but keep this to yourself. Officially, I’m not here to investigate anything other than Abigail’s death. Anyway, I think we should go now or we’ll be late for dinner.”
Freddie grimaced. “You’re right. Drink up, and let’s boot it out of here.” He blew out a huge breath.
Rebecca raised a finger. “One more thing.”
Freddie looked worried.
“I didn’t see a liquor store in town. Where can I get my hands on a bottle of Irish whiskey?”
His face brightened. He gave her a conspiratorial wink. “Hand me sixty bucks. I’ll meet you in the lot.”