by Louise Clark
“I’ll bet,” Roy said. His eyes had brightened and Christy thought she saw mischief in his gaze.
Ellen allowed herself a small, thin smile. “He threatened to arrest me for obstructing justice, until I pointed out that I wasn’t obstructing anything, merely restoring order from the chaos induced by his men. We agreed I would remain away from the areas being searched and his men would show your possessions more respect.”
“Bravo,” Roy muttered.
Christy could imagine Ellen squaring off against the highhanded Fortier, pitting her most imperious manner against his bluster. She suspected the conversation had been more polite on her side than his, and that voices—more than likely just Fortier’s voice—had been raised.
Ellen drew a deep breath, the way someone did when they were confessing an error in judgment. “They took the computers, Roy. Both Quinn’s and yours. I tried to make them stop, but they would not. Trevor arrived before they left and he made them sign a document stating that they had taken them.”
Roy smiled grimly. “No matter. The hardware can be replaced.”
“But what about your files? Your books? Your current project?” Ellen’s dismay sounded in her voice and showed in her expression.
Roy’s smile turned into a rather feral grin. “Quinn’s a smart boy. He made sure we each backed up everything onto external drives. Those drives are now deposited in a secure place.”
The front door opened and Trevor appeared. He scanned them for a moment before he said, “Fortier wants to question you downtown.”
Roy nodded. “I expected that.”
Trevor ran lightly down the stairs so he wouldn’t have to raise his voice for the next of his comments. “I told him you wouldn’t come in unless you had a legal representative present.”
Roy nodded again. Ellen said, “Are you going to the station now?”
Trevor shook his head. “We’re waiting for Mallory Tait. She’s a hotshot criminal lawyer from my firm. She’s going to represent you, Roy, and Quinn. Tamara too, if Olivia Waters isn’t going to provide her with legal counsel.”
“Considering the interview we just had with Olivia, I doubt that’s going to happen,” Christy said. “She’s completely accepted that Tamara is the mastermind behind an international terrorist plot to kill Fred Jarvis.”
“Then Mallory will represent Tamara as well,” Trevor said, nodding. “I briefed her on the case when I arranged for her to hold the external drives in trust. She’s already researching the details and she’s excited by the opportunity.”
Roy leveled a hard look at Trevor. “She understands that extricating Quinn is the primary goal?”
Trevor met his gaze squarely. “Her primary goal is to ensure that no one gets railroaded. Here’s what is going to happen. When Mallory gets here, we will both escort you down to the station. Mallory will be with you when Fortier questions you.” He pointed his forefinger at Roy, wagging it for emphasis. “And you will listen to her when she gives you instructions. If she says not to answer, don’t.”
“I didn’t go through all this crap to make it easy for Fortier to scratch me off his list,” Roy said heatedly.
“Listen up, Armstrong. Mallory Tait is a lot smarter than you and she understands the nuances of what is going on here. If she says shut up, you shut up!”
Roy’s eyes narrowed and his expression hardened. He opened his mouth to argue. Christy said calmly, “Does Mallory know Patterson asked for my help?”
“Yes,” Trevor said. Roy looked impatient at the interruption, but he allowed himself to be diverted, for the moment, at least.
“She won’t divulge it to Fortier, will she? I think Patterson is right and Fred Jarvis’ personal life is the key to the murder, not his professional one. Fortier is adamant, though. He won’t let the taskforce be diverted away from his terrorist theory.”
Trevor laughed. “Mallory is a firm believer that the less the prosecution knows the better.”
“Good.” Christy turned to Ellen. “When Roy and I talked to Olivia she mentioned that Marian Fleming was one of Fred’s mistresses. We need to interview her. Do you know her?”
“We’ve met,” Ellen said.
“Marian Fleming?” Trevor said. His brows rose. “The wife of Archie Fleming, Jarvis’ main competition for the party leadership?”
Christy nodded. “Now you know why I think his murder had personal roots, not political ones.” She turned back to Ellen. “Do you think you could arrange an interview with her?”
“I can try.” Ellen sounded doubtful, though. “Do you really think Marian Fleming could murder someone?”
Christy noticed a car coming slowly down the hill. While her eyes tracked the progress of the vehicle, she said, “Probably not, but she could hire someone to do it. Patterson told me that Fred Jarvis was killed by a clean shot to the head, the kind of thing a professional sharpshooter would do. That’s why Fortier is looking for terrorists or a politically motivated killer. The murder method doesn’t have the hallmark of an act of passion.”
The car stopped a few feet away from where they were standing clustered around Roy’s front walk. The driver side door opened and they all paused a moment to watch as a woman emerged. She was young, blonde, had a killer figure covered by a beautifully tailored skirt suit, and wore sky-high heels that emphasized her long legs.
Inside her head, Christy distinctly heard a wolf whistle. She narrowed her eyes and glared at the cat. Stormy returned her gaze with wide green eyes. He meowed in what Christy took to be an apology, then jumped off the box to twine around her ankles. “Thank you, Stormy,” she said, patting him. “I can’t say I feel so positively toward your roommate at this moment.”
Marriage didn’t take away my license to look! The voice was indignant and not a little defiant.
Roy raised his eyebrows at this exchange, and Ellen looked disapproving. Trevor lifted his hand to wave the woman over.
In a voice loud enough for the woman to hear, Roy said, “The people around Fred Jarvis are wealthy, connected, and smart. If one of them wanted to kill Jarvis, they would do everything in their power to make sure they weren’t implicated in the murder.” He cocked an eyebrow at Trevor. “Can we get your Mallory Tait to sell that to Mr. Pompous Ass Inspector Fortier?”
The woman reached them and held out her hand. “You must be Roy Armstrong.” Roy nodded. “I’m Mallory Tait,” she said, and they shook. “I will certainly be proposing that the taskforce should broaden its search parameters, since none of my clients are guilty. Whether Inspector Fortier will heed my suggestion, I cannot say.”
Trevor introduced Christy and Ellen and they shared a few conversational pleasantries before Mallory said, “We had best be on our way, gentlemen. Fortier was adamant he speak to Mr. Armstrong today. He’s a classic hunter and he’s under pressure to find the killer. I want to keep him off balance, not dug into a hole he won’t bother leaving.”
Trevor nodded. “Agreed.” Together he and Mallory herded Roy into Mallory’s car.
Ellen and Christy watched them drive away. Noelle took advantage of the moment to shout, “Mom! Mary and I are racing. Mary won six times more than me! Isn’t she awesome?” Mary gave Christy a bashful smile. “Come on, Mary. Let’s go again. Watch us, Mom.” They sped off.
Christy laughed and said, “Okay,” to their retreating backs. She doubted either girl had heard her.
“While you watch the hooligans, I’ll go inside and see if I can make arrangements to meet with Marian,” Ellen said.
Christy nodded as she glanced over at Ellen. “The sooner the better.”
Chapter 19
Marian Fleming agreed to meet with Christy and Ellen the next morning. She suggested the Pacific Centre shopping mall downtown, shortly after the mall opened at ten. That gave Christy enough time to get Noelle to school and her and Ellen down to the mall. They found Marian at the entrance to Holt Renfrew, a high-end store where both Ellen and Christy shopped.
“Good morning, la
dies,” Marian said. She was wearing black slacks and a dark gray silk blouse that flowed elegantly around her well-endowed frame. On her feet were well-worn low heels.
Shopping clothes, Christy thought. Easy on, easy off garments; shoes that were comfortable for long hours of walking on hard floors.
“I’m glad you called, Ellen,” Marian said. She smiled, but her gaze was sad. The concealer she’d used only partially covered the dark shadows that were evidence of sleepless nights. “I need a shopping fix and I don’t like browsing alone.” She led the way into the store and headed for the ladies’ apparel section.
“Well,” Ellen murmured to Christy as they followed Marian into the store. “This is an interesting development.”
“Do you think she’s trying to ignore a guilty conscience?” Christy whispered.
Ellen eyed Marian’s back as she moved forward with a determined stride. “Maybe.” She chuckled. “I guess we’re about to find out.”
Marian bypassed women’s dresses, slacks, tops, and coats, heading straight for the lingerie section. At the edge, she paused and sighed as she looked around at the goods offered. “I miss Fred,” she said. “I love pretty underthings and so did Fred. I used to think about him when I shopped. How would he respond to this bra or those panties? Would he like me to wear a thong under that dress or nothing at all?” She reached up to brush a tear away from the corner of her eye. “Archie doesn’t care about my underwear. He’s a practical man and likes to dive in without a lot of embellishment.”
Christy glanced at Ellen to see if she was as horrified by this conversation as Christy was. She didn’t mind girl talk, but not with a complete stranger and a stranger who was of her mother’s generation to boot. Ellen didn’t look horrified, but her expression said she was amazed at Marian’s openness, and not a little intrigued. Christy decided she’d let Ellen do most of the talking. She’d probably be able to invite more confidences from Marian than Christy would.
“I would never have pegged Fred Jarvis as being a sensual man,” Ellen said. Her tone of voice mirrored her intrigued facial expression.
Marian laughed as she plunged into the section. “Lord, yes. The man adored women, everything about women. He loved to look and touch and incite. Your pleasure is my pleasure was his motto.” Her amused smile slipped into one that was nostalgic and not a little melancholy.
She picked up a bra that was mostly thin transparent silk, designed to do nothing but entice as far as Christy could tell. Sighing, Marian replaced it on the rack. Christy took a moment to touch the smooth fabric. A few months ago, she might have bought a bra like this for her own use. She pushed the thought away.
“Even after Fred and I broke up, we remained casual lovers,” Marian was saying as she poked through a rack of nothing-there undies. “So I had a reason to indulge my habit. Now? What’s the point?” She shrugged, obviously thinking about her no-nonsense husband.
“Didn’t Archie mind that you and Fred were lovers? That you continued to be lovers until … ” Ellen waved her hand as she let her sentence drift away.
Marian raised her brows, surprised. “No, of course not. Archie and Fred were friends. Archie is as broken up over Fred’s death as I am.” She made a hiccup of sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “That was Fred’s way. If he wanted to spend time with a married woman he made sure her husband accepted the relationship. He and Archie were already friends and colleagues when Fred seduced me. He took care to ensure Archie was part of the arrangement.”
In the act of putting the pretty scrap of a bra back on the rack, Christy froze. “Was Fred into ménage situations?” Her voice came out as a squeak. She knew she sounded naïve and so provincial, but she didn’t care. Her brain couldn’t process the concept of a man who might have one day been the leader of her country being into group sex—and who knew what else.
Marian laughed. “Of course not.” A dreamy look settled into her eyes. “How can I explain? Fred was … in the moment when he was with a woman, but he never forgot the bigger picture. That the woman had a husband and that her husband had value too. Everybody in Fred’s life served a purpose.” She giggled. “I like to experiment and wear pretty things, so I provided Fred with adventure, as well as sexual gratification. Archie became his political ally.” She sobered, and the amusement seeped away, once again leaving melancholy behind. “Everyone came away with something positive. It worked beautifully for all of us.”
Okay, Christy thought. Time to move on from Fred Jarvis’s sex life to something more concrete. “The news of Fred’s death must have been a terrible blow. How did you hear about it?”
Marian cast a last lingering look at a revealing negligee, then headed toward the shoe section. “Archie and I were campaigning in Calgary. His security detail was informed immediately after Fred’s body was found, to ensure Archie was safe and had not been targeted too. He told me right away. We cried together. He had his staff cancel all our events, even though one of them was a thousand dollar a plate fundraiser.” She sighed again. “People weren’t happy about that.”
Marian Fleming did a lot of sighing, Christy thought, but the mental image of Marian and Archie sobbing out their grief for Marian’s dead lover and Archie’s prime competition for the leadership, was more than she could handle. “Do you think Tamara Ahern is guilty of the murder?”
They had reached the shoe section and Marian was in the act of picking up a dainty sandal with a spike heel. She looked at Christy with surprise in her expression. “Who else could it be? I’m sure if the poor girl hadn’t been traumatized, she would never have done it.” Marian put the sandal back on the display. “Everyone who knew Fred loved him. The person who killed him had to be an outsider. There’s no other possibility.”
Christy thought there were plenty of other possibilities, but she was here to mine Marian Fleming for information, not prove her own point.
The shopping expedition continued with a more detailed shoe inspection, followed by a browse through the women’s dresses section. They broke for lunch around noon, eating in the store’s chic little café. Throughout the meal, Marian talked about Fred, her relationship with Fred, Archie’s relationship with Fred, and how his death would impact both their lives.
“He was that kind of man,” Marian said wistfully. “He was a force to be reckoned with. Once he was in your life you couldn’t bear for him to be out of it.” She was deep into pre-lunch margaritas by that point and was even more open than she’d been in the clothing sections.
Christy, who wasn’t drinking, found her rather sad. Ellen was nodding agreement and seemed to have bought into the Fred Jarvis mythos. She tackled Ellen on that as they were driving home an hour later, just in time to pick up Noelle from school. “Since Marian was in Calgary with Archie, she couldn’t have done the murder herself, but do you believe all that stuff about what a wonder Jarvis was, and how much both she and her husband loved him?”
Ellen stared out the windscreen and didn’t respond for a time. “I’ve met Fred Jarvis at events over the years. Brief encounters that were little more than a few moments of polite chitchat and nothing like the intense relationships he had with Olivia and Marian. Still, Marian is right. He had a way of focusing on you and only you when he was talking to a person. His smile invited confidences and he was a handsome man, with deep brown eyes that could be as warm as melted chocolate and just as enticing.”
They stopped at a light and Christy spared a moment to look over at Ellen. “You found him attractive.”
“I did,” she said promptly. “But I as I said, I met him briefly from time-to-time. I remembered him, but he never remembered me. That was the difference between Fred Jarvis, the intimate friend, and Frederick Jarvis, the politician.”
The light changed and traffic began to move again. Christy kept her eyes on the road, even though she frowned. “Personal and impersonal charm. Someone like Marian Fleming, who was bathed in his potent personal charm, might not be able to believe that another pers
on didn’t find Fred wonderful.”
“Exactly,” said Ellen.
“A person who was caressed with that delightful charm, but forgotten the minute he or she was out of range, might feel excluded, and not understand why. Not understanding can cause resentment and resentment brings with it anger and bitterness.”
“And perhaps violence,” Ellen added quietly.
“Is that who we’re looking for, Ellen? Someone who believes he or she should be inside the golden circle, but who was not?”
“Possibly, but not exclusively. It might be a complete outsider. Someone who was immune to his personal style, who was perhaps able to look past it to see the man beneath.”
Christy sighed. “You’re talking about Tamara.”
“She’s one. I hate to say it, but … ” Christy could feel Ellen’s eyes on her, searching her face, watching her expression. “Quinn is another.”
Denial came quick and easily. “Quinn didn’t kill Fred Jarvis.”
“No, I don’t think he did.” Ellen hesitated, then she said, “If Quinn had wanted to harm Jarvis he would have used his reputation and his skill with words to destroy the man’s chance to win the leadership. I think all Quinn was interested in was minimizing the damage Jarvis could do to Tamara.”
“You could be right,” Christy said. They turned into the development. “I wonder how Quinn and Tamara are doing?”
“And Roy. I didn’t see him come home last night.”
As soon as they reached the top of their street it was obvious that something was happening at the Armstrong house. People were emerging from either side of a new model Ford that was parked in front of the driveway. Christy recognized Mallory Tait’s beautifully styled blond hair and svelte figure on the driver’s side. More importantly, she saw that one of the men exiting the passenger side of the car had Quinn’s dark hair and broad shoulders.
Relief bubbled up inside her. “Looks like Quinn has been released. Let’s find out what’s been happening while we were cruising the mall with Fred Jarvis’s mistress.”