by Susan Calder
The men exchanged glances.
“What’s wrong?” she said.
Vincelli’s eyes looked puzzled. “What makes you think she went on to her master’s degree?”
“She told me all about it last spring. She’d been accepted and was definitely going.”
“To the University of Calgary?”
“Where else? Surely Sam, her husband, mentioned this.”
Vincelli made a note. “We’ll question him again and check the university records.”
She crossed her arms. “I can’t believe Callie would change her mind. She was thrilled about going. She said she needed the higher degree to pursue a teaching or performing career.”
Novak flipped through his notebook. “You say Callie left an answering machine message on Monday. Did you happen to save it?”
“I can play it right now.” Grateful for another chance to get up, she walked to the telephone cabinet. “Callie’s tone was casual and breezy, so I didn’t feel any pressure to return the message. When I replay it, I notice she asks if I’m free this week and says call me tomorrow. You say she phoned from the trail?”
Why would Callie have wanted to talk to her now, after ignoring her calls all summer? Was it about something urgent, maybe related to the murder? Did anyone know Callie was coming here?
“Could we hear the phone message?” Novak said.
She pressed the play button. Monday, 2:45 PM. The metallic male machine voice was followed by the girlish one. Hi Paula, it’s Callie. Long time since we’ve had lunch. Are you free this week? I want to hear all about your move to Ramsay. There are some new restaurants near there that might be fun to try. Give me a call tomorrow.
Novak asked her to replay the message so he could copy it verbatim.
“We’ll have a technician make a copy,” Vincelli said.
“It isn’t digital,” Paula said. “You can take the tape, as long as you return it.”
Vincelli pushed back his chair. “Do they still make them with tapes?”
He pushed all the buttons, seemingly intrigued by the antique. After the replay, he dropped the mini-cassette into a belt pouch. They resettled on their seats.
“One last thing,” Vincelli said. “Where were you Thursday, September 23, between 6:00 and 7:00 AM?”
She scraped her chair back. He was asking for her alibi. She looked from him to Novak. How had she missed seeing this from their perspective as investigators? She did this every day when adjusting insurance claims: string together facts to reach a logical conclusion. Two phone calls were placed to her house. For all the cops knew, she received them, had argued with Callie and dashed out to intercept her on the trail. The murder site was a ten minute walk, tops.
She squinted at Vincelli. “My neighbor will confirm I wasn’t home yesterday morning.”
His dark eyes didn’t waver. “He stated your car wasn’t parked on the street when he went to bed at midnight and when he looked out at 8:30 AM. You might have returned between those hours or parked in the rear.”
“I never use my garage. It’s full of boxes. I brought them with me when I moved in and plan to sort through them. Have a look, if you don’t believe me.”
“There’s space to park in the back lane.”
They had looked, had probably peered into her garage window, and must be noticing her fidgety hands. She grabbed a sprig of grapes. “Yesterday, between 6:00 and 7:00 AM, I was at my office.”
“Do you always go into work that early?” Vincelli said.
“My hours are flexible. I’m there at six o’clock, maybe once a month.” Less often. Had she ever got in quite that early?
“Who was with you?”
“No one. Nils, my boss, usually arrives between seven and eight o’clock, the secretary at eight thirty. It’s a small company, I told you. That’s our entire staff.”
“Who else was in the building?”
“It’s a small building. The only other tenant is a jeweler. He’s never there before ten o’clock.” It all sounded so lame.
He asked for the jeweler’s name and her office address and phone number. This was crazy. She had no motive for murder, although they could probably extrapolate one from her ramblings. Jealousy? Pettiness? Childish anger at a friend who broke an imagined bond? You didn’t kill for that. Did you?
Vincelli took a sip of water. He pulled the grape bowl closer and broke off his first stalk. “What time did you leave your house yesterday morning?”
“I didn’t. I spent Wednesday night with a friend. He’s a lawyer and had to be in his office by six o’clock. I figured I might as well catch up on paperwork.”
“Did this friend drop you off at work or vice versa?”
“We drove in separate cars.”
“Did you stop to pick up a coffee or anything along the way?”
“I brought a thermos from Hayden’s. This is ridiculous. You can’t seriously think I would kill her.”
Vincelli requested Hayden’s home and office phone numbers and addresses.
“I know that firm,” Novak said. “I’ve dealt with some of their criminal lawyers.”
“He does civil litigation.”
Novak tapped his leg. “I should sue my horse.”
She scowled at his attempt at playing the nice cop. Her grape stem was shredded. Ripping it apart had, no doubt, made her look guilty. She dropped the shreds to her plate.
“What reason could I possibly have for murder?” she said.
Vincelli plucked a grape. “You tell me.”
Chapter Five
Hayden looked up from his desk. “First the police; now you. Two surprises in one day.”
“They didn’t waste time checking my alibi.” Paula sank into the visitor’s chair. She had given the detectives a few hours to get here and had decided not to warn Hayden they might show up. If he acted too prepared, it might increase their suspicions.
“I was just about to call you.” He closed the file he had been reviewing when she came in and placed it on the stack to his left. “Why on earth would they think you did it?”
She explained about Callie’s cell phone calls sent from the trail. The file on top of the stack teetered; it tilted more and more and finally spewed its papers onto his blotting pad. Every surface of his desk was covered with folders, paper and pens. By all accounts he was a competent lawyer. She didn’t know how he kept on top of his work.
“What kinds of questions did they ask you?” she said.
He stuffed the papers back into the file. “They were here a good half hour and caused quite a stir in this place. I’m sure some of my co-workers were hoping to see me hauled out in handcuffs.”
She reached under a folder for the music box, the only personal item in his office aside from photographs. For the second time today, she missed smoking for how it occupied her hands.
“They asked how long I’ve known you,” he said, “how long we’ve been dating, if I’d seen or talked to Callie. They wanted details of your movements yesterday. I may not have helped when I said you were a bit of a night owl and I’d never known you to go to the office at that hour in the morning. It slipped out . . .”
“Thanks a lot, especially since it was your fault I went in early.”
“If it’s any consolation, they also wanted details about me, in case we’re in cahoots.” He got up to close his window blind against the setting sun that blurred the Rocky Mountains zigzagging along the horizon. The mountains looked their best in the morning splashed with eastern light and would be spectacular in a couple of weeks, after a dump of snow.
He returned to his desk. His surroundings were messy, but his person couldn’t be more proper and neat. Clean shaven, short dark hair parted to the side with patches of gray above the ears, he wore a business suit, pale blue shirt, and conservative blue and gray tie. The detectives would have to be impressed with the company she kept.
“I wouldn’t worry about it,” he said. “The police aren’t going to impulsively arrest
the wrong person.”
“You know that’s not true. Don’t try to make me feel better.” She shifted the holograph picture on the music box lid so the trumpet player’s cheeks puffed out and in. “I suppose I’m keeping you from work.”
“I do have a trial coming up in a couple of weeks.”
“Callie’s funeral is Monday morning. Can you get the time off?”
“I have a meeting with my client. If you want me to go, I might be able to reschedule—”
“Don’t you want to be there for yourself?”
“I only knew Callie in passing, through her husband, Kenneth. I saw her, maybe, twice in the past thirty years. Will your ex be going?”
Was he worried about meeting Gary? About his position in the legal community, if he was connected to her, a potential suspect? “I talked to Gary this afternoon. He’s leaving Sunday on a cruise, with his girlfriend.
“Your daughters?”
“Leah might want to go. She used to be close to Skye and Callie. Although Leah always says she’s against formal rituals.”
“That figures.” Hayden glanced at his cluttered desk. He didn’t want to rearrange his life to attend the funeral of someone he barely knew, but would do it if she asked.
“Do you realize,” she said. “If it weren’t for Callie, you and I wouldn’t have met?”
He and his nephew had attended Skye’s play. Paula had gone with Callie and Leah. Hayden recognized Callie from a charity event she had attended years ago with Kenneth and came up to them during the first intermission.
“I couldn’t tell who your nephew was flirting with more,” Paula said. “Callie or Leah.”
“Either way, he kept them occupied so you and I could get acquainted.”
Hayden left the second intermission with her phone number.
“I still can’t believe she’s dead,” Paula said. “Evidently, it happened sometime before 7:00 AM.”
“Six forty-eight, to be precise.”
“How do you know?”
“A witness heard the gunshot.”
“Did the detectives tell you that?”
“It’s in the Sun.”
“You read a tabloid?”
“One of my co-workers does.”
He fumbled beneath the files and dug out the newspaper. His telephone rang. While he talked to his client, she studied the tabloid’s full front-page picture of the yellow tape running across the entrance to the trail. Superimposed were Callie’s photograph and a quote from her husband, Sam: “I didn’t know she was there.”
She scanned the inside page. Two nearby residents heard a sound . . . initially dismissed as a backfiring car . . . dog walker recognized Callie from the news report. For the past month . . . he passed her daily at that hour on the trail. Police conclude . . . jogged to Ramsay and back at a set time.
But yesterday morning, for some reason, Callie had placed two calls. Was she planning to change her routine and continue to Paula’s house?
Paula returned to the article. The murder weapon wasn’t found at the site. So, the police couldn’t trace it, if it was registered.
Hayden’s conversation wound down. He hung up the phone.
She closed the newspaper. “I wish I’d been home to answer her calls, but what difference would it have made? I would have put on a pot of coffee and waited for her to never show up.” Her voice broke. She blinked back tears.
Hayden’s face softened in sympathy. “It should be over soon. They usually arrest the culprit within a week.”
“You know what I hate most about this?”
“You getting arrested and going to jail?”
“Very funny.”
“Me going to jail?”
“I hate that all the murder talk, including suspicions against you and me, prevents me from properly thinking about her and grieving. Can’t you beg off work tonight?”
He cast another glance at his clutter. “I’d still have to come in tomorrow morning. You don’t like me waking you up early on Saturday.”
He didn’t sleep well in her bed, yet. Nights before work were always spent at his place.
“I’m sure I can wrap it all up by tomorrow noon,” he said. “Then, we’ll unwind with tennis, cook a great dinner, rent a movie, drink wine, et cetera.”
“I can’t wait, especially for the et cetera.” After last night’s restlessness, she could use a good dose of sex. Hopefully, it would send her sailing to sleep.
From his office, Paula drove to the fitness center, even though she was exhausted and didn’t need more exercise today after her walk to and from Sam’s house. Since she would be busy with Hayden all weekend, this would be her only chance to talk to Anne before the funeral.
During a brief university romance, Anne and Sam had produced a son, Dimitri, now age thirty-one and a prominent federal politician. He won his first seat in the June election. Sam’s participation in his son’s upbringing had kept Anne and him in contact. Their mutual friends included Kenneth and Callie. When the couple split, Anne had landed on the Kenneth side due to his friendship with her husband. Callie left the fitness center around the same time. Was that a coincidence or not? Paula wondered if Callie’s involvement with Sam made her feel awkward with Anne.
The center’s sign, Fit for Life, underscored with an infinity symbol, glowed pink and blue neon. Lights shone from the converted church. Anne had bought the building for next to nothing during the 1980s bust. Rather than tear down the one-hundred-year-old structure, she had gutted it, installed beams and floors to support the load of exercise machines and painted the exterior royal blue. The former square steeple became a free weights room with a view of the yuppifying neighborhood. The plumbing and lights could get wonky at times—a burst pipe once closed the center for three days—but during her eight years of membership, Paula had noticed a steady increase in customers. Anne said the business was finally in the black.
Dance music drowned out the whirr of machines, all of which seemed occupied. Paula rarely worked out during the peak evening time, when she tended to be occupied by meetings with insurance claimants. She went through the security gate. Anne rushed toward her. They hugged, which they had never done before. Anne’s shoulder muscles felt taut and strong. She spent a good twelve hours at her center every day and pumped machines and weights when she wasn’t involved in administrative or supervisory duties. All the way to the changing room, they shared feelings about Callie’s murder. “Shock.” “Unbelievable.” The same words they had used on the phone this morning. Anne’s workout gear hugged her hips and thighs. Paula changed into her baggy T-shirt and shorts. What did looks matter in an all-female facility, unless you were the owner and had to project an image? They managed to find two spare adjacent treadmills. Paula’s feet moved forward and back on the treadmill belt. “I told you about Callie’s phone message on Monday. If I’d returned that damn call, she might have told me what was bothering her, if something was. Maybe I couldn’t have prevented the murder, but I’d know enough now to steer the cops in the right direction. They came to my house this morning.” She described their visit. Her feet pounded the belt so fast she had no trouble keeping up to Anne’s pace. “They can’t seriously believe, for one minute, I killed her.”
“We all feel guilty for what we might have done,” Anne said. “The last time I saw her, Callie told me she was thinking of coming back to the center when the weather got colder. Instead, it got warmer. If only I’d pushed her to rejoin us sooner.”
Paula sipped water. “I finally met Sam, today, when I dropped by unexpectedly to pay my respects. Did you know Callie’s niece, Isabelle, was living with them?”
“I only found out a few weeks ago. I gather she moved in last May.”
“Is she planning to stay on alone with Sam?”
Anne frowned. “Dimitri mentioned she might. He told Sam to consider the optics.”
“As Callie’s husband, Sam’s an automatic suspect. Does he inherit her money?”
“Most of
that went into their house.”
“Which could be worth a million dollars, after the reno.”
“Dimitri didn’t tell me the terms of her will. I didn’t think to ask about it.”
“Do you think Sam is sleeping with Isabelle?” Paula asked.
Anne’s hazel eyes flashed surprise, as though she hadn’t considered the possibility. “I hope not, for his and Dimitri’s sake. He’s staying with Sam during this crisis.”
Before Dimitri bought his condo in his riding last spring, he had shuttled between Sam’s house and Ottawa. Anne had said his relationship with Sam was more like that of two friends than father and son.
“Why did you say, ‘for Dimitri’s sake’?”
“Dimitri wasn’t specific, but he’s concerned about Sam. He said the cops have been giving him a hard time.”
Paula wished Anne was more curious about people. Callie would have pressed her son for details.
“Dimitri doesn’t need this with parliament starting up next week.”
They left the treadmills for the elliptical machines. Paula was glad to see some sweat matting Anne’s ash-blond bangs. Anne returned to the “shock” and “unbelievable” words that were starting to sound like platitudes. “I shudder at the thought of Callie jogging alone in the dark,” Anne said. “I don’t much like that creepy area behind the Stampede grounds in daytime, never mind at night.”
“Callie didn’t tend to worry about such things.” Another non-Anne trait.
Anne pressed her machine settings. Paula punched her elliptical panel up two levels. The machines were good for channeling stress. Much of her talk during their tri-weekly workouts involved venting, mainly hers about work, her daughters, parking tickets, incompetent repairmen . . . Anne was a good listener. In the old days, when she and Callie worked out, Callie had listened, too, but was more likely to tell her off. “Get over it,” she would say, “Don’t be judgmental, see it from his or her point of view.” Clearly, at the end of her life, Callie was looking to her for help with a problem that may or may not have been related to the murder. If Paula was in crisis, who would she turn to? Hayden, unless the problem was him. She didn’t have many girlfriends. The ones she had acquired after her divorce had remarried and drifted away or stalled in the bitterness. In terms of hours spent together, Anne was probably her current best friend, although they never met outside the fitness center. Of the two, Paula would rather pour her crisis to Callie, despite their distance in recent years. She wiped an eye.