“I’ll make sure Cobb sees it.”
“Good, thanks.”
I drained the last of my beer. “There’s something I want to ask you about.”
Kennedy’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
“Cobb and I have been working another cold case, one from a really long time ago — 1965, to be exact.”
“That’s damn cold,” Kennedy said. “Maybe when you’ve wrapped that one up you should take a run at solving Jack the Ripper.”
“Yeah, right. Anyway, a folksinger, a girl named Ellie Foster, disappeared from a coffee house that used to be in the basement of a building on 1st Street West, right near 12th Avenue.”
“That’s the one you were talking about.”
“What?”
“That morning I met you guys at the Belmont Diner. You mentioned a case you were working on.”
I nodded. “I remember that now. Yeah, this is that case.”
“Anyway, it was well before my time,” Kennedy said. “Don’t think I know the case.”
For the next half hour, and over another beer, I told him everything I could remember without my notes in front of me, right up to the present and including my chat with Alfie Keller. The one thing I did have with me was a copy of the lyrics of Ellie’s song. I showed those to Kennedy as well. For a long time, he didn’t say or do anything. I was about ready to leave when he looked up at me.
“I bet you’re wondering if Fayed and Laird were the two dudes Keller got into it with that night.”
“The thought had crossed my mind.”
“I have two thoughts.”
I relaxed, watched him. “Okay. What are they?”
“First … I think it’s Pearson. The guy in the lyrics … I think it’s Pearson, the prime minister.”
“Why do you think that?”
“A lot of the same reasons you boys and girls talked about during your dinner. But I’ve got one more. You any kind of an athlete?”
“Played some baseball,” I answered. “College ball at Oklahoma State.”
“Full ride?”
“Yeah, but I tore my rotator cuff in my junior year, and that was the end of my career. Not that there would have been a career after college, but I would have liked to have finished that year and played my senior year. We had a pretty good club.”
Kennedy nodded. “I was a student athlete as well. Football.”
“What’s that got to do with —”
“Just this. I’m interested in athletes. I don’t read novels and stuff, but when I can I do read non-fiction. I’ve read a lot about the psychology of athletes. Always did. Still do. What makes them, what drives them … shit like that.”
“I saw your book collection at the house.”
He nodded. “A few years ago, I read a book about Lester Pearson, sort of a biography, I guess, except I wasn’t interested in the political stuff. In fact, I doubt if I even knew he was once our prime minister before I read that biography. What did interest me was that he was quite an athlete. Played on a hockey team that won the Spengler Cup, and like you, he was a pretty fair ball player. Played semi-pro, I think.”
He tapped the paper containing the lyrics. “Good at play. I don’t know a hell of a lot about songwriting, but if those other lines are about Pearson, not some anonymous person, then good at play fits.”
I sat for a while, thinking about what he’d said. For me, the line could have applied to a lot of people. And it could have been about a lot of things, sports among them.
“You said you had two things. What’s the second one?”
Kennedy’s mouth came close to forming a smile. “I think if the answers are out there at all, they’re a long way east of here. If it was me, I’d be getting my ass to Ottawa.”
I thought about that, too. I nodded my head and started to thank him, but I didn’t get the chance. Kennedy suddenly rose from his chair. The look on his face was the one I’d seen that night in the laneway behind my house. And seen again moments earlier, when he’d suggested I might have left the marks on the trash can stand behind the murder house. I thought for a second he was going to hit me.
I was wrong. He went by me and in three strides was standing in front of the three guys who’d come in just after us. His body language told me he hadn’t gone over there to invite them to our table for a beer.
I barely had time to turn and track his movement over my shoulder.
I knew I couldn’t just sit there enjoying my beer while Kennedy squared off with three guys, all of whom looked to be both willing and in pretty good shape. So I eased my way over, hoping I was lining up opposite the smallest of the three.
“I heard your friends call you Todd,” Kennedy said to the guy in the middle just as I got there.
“Yeah?”
“Well, Todd, you and your boys here got bad mouths,” Kennedy growled. “And I’d say you got bad minds, too, but for that to be true, you’d have to have minds, period. And there’s no guarantee of that, is there?”
When Kennedy asked the question at the end, I was hoping he wasn’t directing it at me. I stared straight ahead, just over the head of the guy in front of me. Old hockey adage: you want to fight, you make eye contact. I don’t think of myself as a coward, exactly, but bar fights often go badly — for everybody. And I didn’t have any beef with the three guys. I’d heard them talking, but as hard as I was concentrating on the various subjects Kennedy and I had covered, the conversation from the nearby table had been white noise.
So far, none of the three have stood up, which is a positive si—
Todd stood up with enough force that his chair went crashing over backward behind him.
“What are you talking about, fuck?”
“I heard you asswipes talking about nailing young girls,” Kennedy shot back. “Young girls. Bragging about it. Guess I don’t think that’s anything to brag about.”
“Well, get over it, fuck, because it really isn’t any of —”
Things happened rather quickly, like a movie on fast-forward.
Kennedy’s hand shot out and grabbed the guy called Todd by the hair, then he brought his arm — and Todd’s face — down at a very high rate of speed, the face making heavy contact with the surface of the table. The crunch of the man’s nose as it came to a sudden stop on the thick wood surface of the tabletop was unpleasant, to say the least.
Kennedy then shoved hard, and Todd stumbled back, falling over the chair that lay on its side behind him. Blood was streaming from his nose. I’d seen the face-slam move before — in a movie, maybe a western — but it was much more impressive in person.
Two bartenders from another part of the pub and the female server arrived, all at the same time. None of them looked like bouncers, which was maybe a good thing. Kennedy didn’t look like he’d be easily bounced. He stepped around one of the other guys at the table and helped Todd to his feet, picked up the chair and sat him back down. Then he looked at the pub staffers.
“Poor guy,” he said, “he got up to go for a whiz and he stumbled, and his face must have hit the table as he fell. Can we get a couple of towels, Miss?”
When the server didn’t move, he said it again. “Towels, Miss? He’s bleeding on the furniture.”
Another guy now arrived. He looked like a manager and had his cellphone in hand. I figured he had the cops on speed dial. One of the bartenders shook his head. “Says he fell, hit his face on something. Nicki, grab those towels, okay?”
Nicki hustled off.
Kennedy looked at each of Todd’s friends. “Maybe you guys should take Todd down to the washroom, help clean him up a bit.”
The two guys, who had been statues since the action began (as, by the way, had I), each took an arm and led Todd in the direction of a nearby washroom. As they went by me, I could see that Todd was going to need more tha
n towels and a sink full of water. I’d seen broken noses before. This wasn’t a broken nose. This was a nose that had been crushed and was now red pulp. To his credit, Todd hadn’t said anything or even whimpered since it had happened. He may have been in shock. But the fight had clearly gone out of him.
When the three of them disappeared into the washroom, the manager looked at Kennedy and me. “I know those guys. I’m guessing Todd had it coming, but I need you guys out of here. Now.”
Kennedy nodded, stepped back to our table, and drained the last of his beer. He stuck out his hand, and we shook.
“Good luck with your cold case,” he said.
“Good luck with yours.”
I followed him to the door of the pub, and once in the parking lot we went in separate directions without saying another word.
Ten
I drove south for a while, eventually connecting with Elbow Drive. Still shaking from the excitement at the Rose and Crown, I pulled into a Safeway parking lot, called Cobb, and told him first about my meeting with Kennedy and the dust-up that was its conclusion. “I haven’t been thrown out of a bar since my sophomore year of university,” I said, hoping I didn’t sound proud of the incident.
“Kennedy had a reputation for having a short fuse when he was a cop. Busted up the occasional suspect, but for the most part was a little careful about whose faces he punched.”
“Yeah, maybe he had a good reason. I didn’t hear what these guys said, but I guess if you’ve been investigating the murder of a child for over a quarter of a century, maybe you don’t take kindly to guys talking about sexually abusing young girls.”
“Maybe not,” Cobb agreed. “You okay?”
“Fine. I was just a bystander. Anyway, that’s not the reason I called. I think maybe I finally got a response to the article — the tip line, as you call it — that might be useful.”
He agreed to meet Keller and me the next morning. I heard him cough on the other end of the line. Then he said, “So what are you thinking — that maybe Fayed and Laird were in The Depression that night?”
“I don’t know. It’s worth considering.”
“Be nice if somebody remembered them being away from The Tumbling Mustard around that time.”
“That would be good,” I concurred. “Oh, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“I told Kennedy about the case.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Not quite everything, but I gave him a pretty comprehensive overview.”
“And?”
“And he thinks the answers are in Ottawa.”
“He might be right,” Cobb said.
It was strange, and I hoped that the violence of the afternoon wasn’t the reason why, but I was feeling optimistic that at last a lot of little things felt connected — maybe out of those connections we’d finally arrive at a point where we actually knew something.
I was still haunted by the thought that I’d made a mistake in approaching the MFs for help with saving the shelter. But I succeeded in pushing even that black cloud a little further away, at least for the moment.
I carried the positive vibe into the barbecue, played catch with Kyla while the burgers cooked, then lost (again) at Clue. This time it was Jill’s turn in the winner’s circle — Colonel Mustard in the study with the lead pipe. Yeah, like the ex-military guy would off somebody with a pipe. Stupid game.
“This isn’t a team sport, you know,” I told Jill and Kyla. “I’m pretty sure you two were working together somehow. And, just so you know, high-fiving isn’t appropriate.” I glared at Kyla. “You lost.”
“But so did you!” She beamed at me.
“I rest my case. Next time, we play Monopoly.”
Kyla kissed her mother, hugged me, and headed off to bed, chortling all the way down the hall.
“Think hugs are great,” I told Jill, “but the real deal is so much better.”
“Can’t argue that.” She smiled. “So what happened to my man between this afternoon and now to bring him out of his funk?”
“I’m not sure,” I admitted. I told her about my day, including the incident at the Rose and Crown.
“Great. One of my favourite pubs in the city, and you’re probably banned from there for life.”
“I’ll work up a disguise. Maybe I’ll go as Colonel Mustard.… But to answer your question, I don’t know. I just feel that there are actually answers out there and that maybe we’re getting closer.”
“I’m glad one of us had a great day,” she said.
“Uh-oh, what’s up?”
Jill was one of the most positive people I’d ever known, so for her to say anything like that meant something was decidedly wrong.
“We got word that our grant is definitely gone. And with the economic climate the way it is right now, it doesn’t look like the business community is going to be able to rescue us. If something dramatic doesn’t happen, and pretty darn soon, we’ll have to close the shelter.”
“Damn,” I said. I was having trouble looking at her, fearful that she might see something that would give me away. I didn’t want to tell her about my approaching the MFs, but I also didn’t want to lie.
“Yeah,” she said.
“How much time have you got?” I asked, trying to think of the questions I would ask if I hadn’t talked to Calgary’s underworld about bailout money.
“If we aren’t able to find some serious cash in the next couple of months, we’ll be shutting down — just as the weather starts to turn cold. Couldn’t be a worse time.”
I pulled her closer to me, put an arm around her. I marvelled at the fact that, as we had gone through dinner and the game with Kyla, Jill never let on even a little the disappointment she had to be feeling over something as important to her as the Let the Sunshine Inn having to close its doors.
“I know things look pretty black right now, but let’s not give up just yet,” I said, trying to comfort her. “We have to let the sunshine in.”
I regretted it almost the second the words were out of my mouth. Jill’s body tightened as I realized that not only had my attempt at humour missed the mark, but also I had unintentionally trivialized something that was anything but trivial.
“Jill, I’m so sorry, that was a stupid thing —”
Bryan Adams mercifully interrupted my awkward attempt at an apology. It was Cobb.
“I’d better take this,” I said. “Sorry.”
“Sure.” Jill stood and moved off toward the kitchen.
“What’s up?” I said.
“Not a lot, and I know this is a long shot, but when you talk to the doorman, ask him if he can remember Fayed and Laird being away from the place for any extended periods of time.”
“I tried him once, didn’t get him, left a message on his machine. He didn’t get back to me. I’ll try him again tomorrow, see if I have better luck.”
“Anything the matter? You sound a little off.”
“No, nothing’s the matter. I guess I just …” I didn’t have any idea how to finish the sentence, so I just quit talking.
“Listen, I’m sorry if I called at a bad time. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“No, really, you’re fine. Any luck talking to the Ottawa cops?”
“I kind of thought we might want to hold off on that,” he said. “Sometimes these things are better done in person.”
“I’ve been leaning that way myself.” I turned just as Jill came back into the room, slid her arms around my waist, and kissed my neck.
I could still hear Cobb’s voice on the phone. “I’m not sure yet, but give it some thought and let’s talk about it tomorrow.”
“Can do.”
“Tell Jill and Kyla hi.”
Jill was close enough to hear Mike’s voice. She lifted her head and said, “Love you, Mike.”
“Love you, too, Jill,” Mike said.
“By the way,” I said, “being a former policeman, you should know this — are there fairly severe penalties for cheating at Clue?”
“There should be,” he answered with a laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually won a game. I recommend Monopoly.”
“Exactly.”
“Whiners,” Jill said, as I ended the call.
I held on to her and kissed the top of her head. “Jill, I know how you feel about the Inn, and I’m really sorry I was an insensitive ass, and —”
“Shut up and kiss me,” she said.
After the kiss — there may have been more than one — I poured two glasses of wine and we sat together on the couch, quiet for a few minutes, enjoying the red, the fire I’d lit earlier … and each other.
“I know this sounds almost foolish, but maybe it’s too early to panic about the Inn’s funding just yet.”
“That might be true if I had even one idea, short of banging on corporate doors and demanding money. And I’m pretty sure that won’t work.”
I nodded. “Probably not. But try to keep your chin up. I hate to see you get down. There has to be a way through this.”
She kissed me on the chin. “Thanks, babe. I really appreciate that you care. Have I mentioned I think you’re quite a nice guy?”
Have I mentioned I may have made a huge mistake? Have I mentioned I’m keeping something from you? Have I mentioned I’m not the nice guy you think I am?
It was time to change the subject. “There’s a chance we may have to go to Ottawa. Things are starting to point in that direction.”
“I was wondering about that.”
She moved in closer to me, and again we let the silence surround us. Several minutes passed before either of us spoke.
“Jill, I wasn’t sure I’d ever love again like I loved Donna. I know I’ve said that before, but I have to add something to that now. I do love you that much … I really do. And the best part is that I’m glad I love you.”
“You mean, the feeling of betrayal you felt before — that you were being disloyal to her memory, all of that — you’re okay now?”
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