Rebecca Temple Mysteries 3-Book Bundle

by Warsh, Sylvia Maultash

  She cringed at the woman listening behind them. “Don’t be ridiculous. We just met last week.”

  “Sometimes things happen fast. I saw the look between you.”

  “You don’t understand.” She turned to find the woman staring up at the lighted floor numbers changing as they descended.

  The elevator stopped at the first floor. The woman stepped around them and hurried off. They headed toward the Elizabeth Street exit.

  “It’s a tragic family. I’m learning more about them than I want to know and it’s upsetting me.” She looked at him sideways. His eyes searched hers, waiting.

  “The woman who lived in their backyard. The dead woman. She wasn’t Sentry’s cousin. He says she was his sister. His sister. He was probably too embarrassed to admit it. He says she was a doctor. That she was ... he says she was just like me.”

  Nesha stopped and took her hand. “Impossible. No one’s like you. He’s distraught and he’s lashing out.”

  “But she was a doctor. How could she become what she was?”

  “You didn’t have to die in the war to be destroyed by it,” he said.

  Nesha had been one of those casualties. But Rebecca couldn’t explain her distress to him, the kinship she felt with the older woman. She could hardly explain it to herself. She was a successful young physician, her future stretching out before her. Yet the small, sad face hung like a moon on that horizon. What if one day she found it looking back at her in the mirror?

  “You need some rest. Come on, I’ll take you home.”

  Rebecca was changing for bed when the phone rang. She glanced at the clock on her night table. It was after eleven.

  “Hi, Rebecca. It’s Susan.”

  “Susan! Are you all right?”

  “I’m feeling a bit better.”

  Was she whispering? Rebecca sat down on the edge of the bed, relieved. “I can hardly hear you.”

  “How’s Miriam?”

  This was a change. “She’s holding her own.” Don’t push. Don’t say it.

  “Rebecca, I’m so sorry about everything. I know I’ve made things difficult for everybody. I just ...” She sniffled.

  Rebecca’s heart contracted at the sound of Susan weeping. “Don’t cry, sweetie. It’s not your fault. These things happen.” She hesitated. “If you’re feeling up to it you could drop into the hospital for a visit.” There, she’d said it.

  “Got to go!” Susan murmured. “Jeff’s coming.”

  chapter thirty-two

  Iris was on the phone when Rebecca arrived at the office Wednesday morning. She stood in front of her assistant with her coat on until Iris looked up and put her hand over the mouthpiece.

  “Did Fitzroy call?”

  Iris shook her head.

  Rebecca headed for her inner office. Throwing off her coat, she picked up her private line and dialed the precinct number by heart. For a change Fitzroy was in.

  “What can I do for you, doctor?”

  “I met the cop from Intelligence last night. He was watching the Sentry house.”

  “They’re watching the house?”

  “When were you going to tell me that the guy in jail was a terrorist? Or that he was killed to keep him from talking?”

  “We’re not sure of any of that.”

  “Well, someone’s sure enough to bring in Intelligence. Didn’t you think I should know? Since my life might be in danger?”

  Silence. Thinking.

  “Is it?”

  “I don’t know. We don’t have a lot to go on. Everything’s happening real fast. We had a guy in who could translate the Arabic but so far there’s nothing personal in the pamphlets. It’s vicious hate stuff. ‘Drive the Zionist entity into the sea.’ That kind of thing. That’s one of the mild ones. But your names don’t come up anywhere. Not yours or the Sentrys’.”

  “Where’d you find the pamphlets?”

  “In the house with the guy you ID’d. Place probably belongs to their group, whatever it is. Out in Scarborough. At least two other men living there. Ran out the back and disappeared. Not enough of our guys to chase them down. When we realized what we had, we brought in the troops and combed the neighbourhood. Went door to door. They’ll turn up. Anyway, nothing much in the house except boxes of these pamphlets. We’re checking the mosques in the area to see if they were handing out this crap.”

  “So there are at least two men out there who may or may not be part of the Muslim Brotherhood and who may or may not be interested in killing me?”

  “I wouldn’t put it that way.”

  “Well how would you put it?”

  “They’re people of interest. We don’t know their connection yet. Just be careful. Be aware of who’s around you. Don’t take any unnecessary chances.”

  “That’s not reassuring.”

  “Well, the cop from Intelligence is right in front watching the Sentry house. If you see something suspicious, call him.”

  “Yeah, thanks. About Sentry, did you buy that story — that his house was broken into by a student?”

  “You think he’s holding something back?”

  “Fencing is a genteel sport. I have trouble imagining one of his students trashing the teacher’s house. Did he give you a name?”

  “He said he didn’t want to get the guy into trouble. If he isn’t pressing charges, nothing I can do.”

  “Or it wasn’t a student.”

  “Or it wasn’t a student,” he said.

  “Mrs. Sentry said they didn’t take anything. What would they’ve been looking for in the house?”

  “Something Sentry has that the terrorists or the Muslim Brotherhood — or whoever it is — wants. What’s his connection to them?”

  “That’s just it. I could understand them going after Salim because of his association with the Egyptian government. But why go after Sentry?”

  “Maybe there’s a connection between Sentry and Salim we’re not getting,” he said. “We have to start at the beginning. With the old woman.”

  “Do you still think Stanley killed her? What about Nigel?”

  “We found Stanley’s fingerprints on a few things in the yard. But the rock with the blood on it — no fingerprints there. We think the killer hit her with it. If all these other things weren’t happening, I’d like Stanley for it. Maybe even Nigel if he was flying high. But this Muslim Brotherhood business has got me scratching my head.”

  She pictured the large head with the scant hair combed forward. “Did you come up with anything on the doll?”

  “Turns out it’s just a broken old doll. I had forensics take it apart after what you told me she said. What was it again?”

  “‘Where is it? Where is it? You can’t have it.’ As if someone had come looking for something and she was repeating both sides of the conversation. At first I thought it might be the doll she was talking about. But you know, after speaking to the Sentrys, I think the doll was a personal thing with her. Part of her war memory. It wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else.” She wasn’t going to tell Fitzroy about the Sentrys’ lost baby. He would have to trust her on this one.

  “See, it’s hard to connect her to the Brotherhood,” he said.

  “Maybe they came looking to get into the house and she surprised them in the yard. They wouldn’t have expected her there, and just killed her on the spur of the moment. She may not have a connection.”

  “A lot of maybes.”

  “Have you questioned Dr. Salim?”

  “He’s a hard man to get hold of. Left a message for him at the hotel.”

  “The Royal York?”

  “He’s a VIP. He’s got a schedule of talks as long as my arm. We put a man on him for protection, but he kept giving him the slip. Doesn’t like guards, he says. We’ll catch up to him.” Fitzroy cleared his throat. “Anyway, he’s kind of peripheral to the investigation. Sentry never mentioned him.”

  “I’d take what Sentry says with a grain of salt. He keeps secrets on principle.” Even if he did div
ulge something intensely personal about his family to her. He’d managed to insult and offend her while doing it. She was still disturbed by his words. He didn’t care if he hurt her; seemed to make a point of it, targeting her with those eyes filled with world-weariness. Yet something else was going on. She sensed it in the combative posture, the evasive words. It was like he was trying to distract her from the real issue. He was playing his cards close to his chest.

  “The thing I can’t figure out is what I have to do with it. How am I supposed to protect myself?”

  “Mace.”

  “Mace?”

  “Come down to the station and I’ll give you a sampler. If someone gets too close, you spray the bastard in the eyes. That’ll stop him. Don’t tell anyone, though. Not supposed to be giving these out to civilians.”

  “I’ll send my assistant over. You’re around the corner from her favourite Chinese restaurant.”

  After Iris had left for lunch, Rebecca dialed the number for the Royal York.

  “I’d like to speak to one of your guests. Dr. Salim.”

  “He’s not in. Can I take a message?”

  Since when did switchboard operators keep track of the comings and goings of hotel patrons? When VIPs gave instructions not to be disturbed.

  The grey sky threatened rain as the Dundas streetcar trundled west to the subway. The hotel wasn’t far from the office. Her paperwork would wait.

  In less than fifteen minutes Rebecca was striding along the plushy champagne-coloured broadloom of the Royal York foyer toward the sweeping reception desk.

  An imperious young woman with sleek black hair looked up. “May I help you?”

  “I’ve come to see one of your guests. Could you tell Dr. Salim that Rebecca Temple is here? Dr. Rebecca Temple.”

  The woman searched through a large-leafed book, then looked up again, her eyes half lidded. “Dr. Salim is unavailable. Would you like to leave a message?”

  “Dr. Salim’s a friend of mine. I have something important to tell him. I’ve found an investor for his new drug. He’ll want that information right away.”

  “If you give me the name of the investor, I’ll pass it on.”

  “I’m afraid it’s strictly confidential.”

  The sloe-eyed receptionist assessed her. “I’ll try to reach him. Wait here.” She retreated to an office.

  In a few minutes, she returned to the desk, her face softer. “Dr. Salim says he’ll be right down.”

  Rebecca sat down on one of the silk-covered sofas in the foyer, facing the corridor that led to the elevators. As she undid the buttons of her black wool coat, three men in business suits strolled by, giving her the eye. She uncrossed her legs, tucking them demurely beneath her. While she pulled her tweed skirt over her knees, Salim exited the elevator corridor and walked toward her.

  Though he had to be over sixty, he cut a fine figure, his shoulders broad and solid beneath the brown wool sports jacket and ivory-toned shirt.

  “What a lovely surprise!” he said with an effusiveness his eyes did not share. “Would you like to go to the bar? It’s just down here.”

  He led her to a room panelled floor to ceiling with oak, books lining the walls. Green damask-covered sofas ranged around dark wood tables. More like a Victorian parlour than a bar.

  “They make an excellent martini,” he said, motioning her to a sofa, then seating himself at a polite distance.

  “I’ll just have coffee, thanks. I have to go back to work.”

  A waiter appeared and took their order.

  “Did I hear the lady at the desk right? You’ve found an investor for our drug?”

  She had an uneasy moment about the lie but stared in radiant confusion. “I think she misunderstood. What I said was I had some suggestions on finding investors. I thought of a few organizations you might not have tried. The Canadian Cancer Society. The Canadian Arthritis Society. The Multiple Sclerosis Society. Any place that deals with people in pain. They may have funds they’re willing to invest in new research.”

  He observed her. “Yes. Thank you. What a good idea.”

  “Did you know that the police were trying to get in touch with you?”

  The waiter brought their drinks. Salim sipped his martini.

  He shrugged. “They’re worried about my safety. As long as I stay here, I think I’m out of harm’s way.”

  “Someone mentioned terrorists,” she said. “Would they really try to harm you?”

  “Who knows? My brother-in-law has high connections in government. Which clamps down on the Muslim Brotherhood every so often when they overstep their bounds and kill someone important. Right now tension is running high because of the overture for peace with Israel. Since I run my brother-in-law’s company, I’m a target.” His face brightened with a bemused smile. “Your police don’t want anything to happen to me. It might cause an international incident.”

  “Did they have any suggestions?”

  “They offered me protection. But that’s impossible. If an Egyptian national has to be guarded in a Western country, then the Brotherhood has won. I can take care of myself. Living in Egypt all these years, I’ve grown very careful.”

  “They offered you protection, they put a man outside the house, but I never even got a phone call.”

  “Outside the Sentry house? I suppose that’s wise.” He finished the martini. Raised his finger for the waiter and motioned for a second.

  She blushed, imagining the cop’s reaction to her loose lips.

  “Maybe you should take them up on their offer. No one needs to know.”

  “I’m not afraid of death. I’ve lived so long near the pyramids and the souls of dead kings. Death doesn’t frighten me. It’s a stepping stone to the afterlife.”

  He lifted the second martini glass in the air in a mock toast. “I don’t get a chance to savour alcohol in Egypt. So I take the opportunity when I travel. Here’s to new places and new friends.”

  She smiled and finished her coffee while he sipped at his drink.

  “Why do you think a Muslim terrorist would be interested in Sentry?”

  “Maybe he owes them money. He’s an inveterate gambler.”

  She had always assumed that Muslims didn’t drink or gamble. People were always so much broader than their definitions.

  “How do you know him?” she asked.

  Salim lifted his head back while emptying his glass.

  “It’s a long story,” he said, his speech slower.

  One he wasn’t about to tell.

  “Well I don’t owe them money. Why would they try to run me down?”

  “Dear lady doctor,” he said, closing his eyes, opening them, “they are a troublesome, violent bunch whose motives are rarely reasonable. I would stay off the streets and lock your doors.” He raised his finger to get the waiter’s attention.

  After her last patient left that evening, Rebecca tried Jeff Herman’s number. While she listened to the phone ring, someone climbed the stairs to her office. Before she could jump to lock the door, Jeff Herman stepped in, stoop-shouldered in an expensive sheepskin jacket. His blonde hair lay in professional waves, but his eyes shifted restlessly above dark half-moons.

  “Is Susan here?”

  “She’s not with you?”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a note, handing it to her.

  Dear Jeff,

  Thanks for all your support, but I have to work things out for myself now.

  Love, Susan

  “She left sometime before I got home. She’s gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rebecca said, an automatic response to his distress. She would have been sorrier if Susan had stayed with him.

  “Look. Rebecca. I know what you think of me.” She opened her mouth to make a feeble protest. He raised his hand, excusing her.

  “But I’m really in love with her. I’d do anything for her. We talked about her getting a divorce so she could marry me.”

  “Her idea or yours?”

&n
bsp; He stopped to think. “Mine.” He chewed on the inside of his cheek. “You know where she is?”

  “No.”

  “I tried your parents’ place — she wasn’t there. I tried Diane’s.” He rubbed his eyes with one hand. “You know, I still remember her in high school. We were sixteen. She had that stunning blonde hair that covered half her face. She was so sexy. All the guys were after her. And for a while I had her. I was cock of the walk. She still makes me feel that way.”

  “Jeff,” Rebecca said, trying to find the right words, “I think she needs some space. If you care for her, you’ll do what she asks.”

  “What she asks?”

  “Read the note.”

  He stared at her glumly. “She’s wasting her life. Tell her I can still help her get into law school here. I have connections.”

  After he left, Rebecca walked back to her inner office to grab her coat. Where was Susan? If she were at their parents’ house, they would have called Rebecca by now. Was she lying low at Diane’s? A hotel? Rebecca would start at Diane’s.

  She stepped to the front window, putting on her coat. The Sentry house was usually dark at this hour, but to her surprise, a light shone through the window. Maybe Will Sentry was picking something up to take to the hospital for his wife.

  On her way down the stairs, she groped in her purse for the key to the deadbolt, her fingers blindly bumping into the small can of Mace that Iris had picked up for her from Fitzroy.

  Outside the back door, she locked the deadbolt, breathing in the chilly air. Walking to her Jag in the little parking area, she looked up to see the dark Ford almost in front of her, sitting on D’Arcy, the driver’s side next to the sidewalk. Parked in that direction, the cop from Intelligence would have to watch the Sentry house in his rearview mirror. She supposed he moved the car a few times during the day, trying to avoid notice.

  Maybe she should ask him if there had been any developments. He had given her information before. In the light of the street lamp, she saw him leaning over the steering wheel as if looking for something on the floor.

  Something was wrong. He still hadn’t moved when she reached the car, his face turned to the other side.