by Rick Blechta
“I...ah...oh dear...”
Shannon was surprised by Sadie’s response, trying to guess what it meant. “Mrs. Parker, I’m not the police. I’m only interested in Jack Taggart, and anything past that I don’t care about. You can trust me.”
“You seem like a nice person,” she said, “and I suppose it doesn’t make any difference now. My husband was very sick in his last months. They tried everything to keep him alive, and it only made him feel worse. Jack suggested he smoke marijuana to ease the nausea, and it did help. It was a godsend, actually.”
“I’m talking about more harmful drugs.”
Sadie was quiet again for a moment. “I don’t think so, but I do know that Jack had some unsavoury friends. He used to hang out at that bar around the corner, O’Reilly’s.”
“Is it still there?”
“Oh, yes.”
“Tell me about when he left.”
“As I said, he went away. They didn’t do anything with his apartment until three months had passed. Then all his things were carted off. I don’t know what happened to them.”
“Did he say goodbye to you or your husband?”
“No. One morning, he just wasn’t there. He did stick a short note under our door, saying he’d get in touch when he got to where he was going, but he never did. That upset Sam something awful. The poor dear didn’t have any more of his ‘happy smoke’ as he called it, and had no idea where to buy any. A few weeks after, I had to put him in the hospital.”
“You wouldn’t have a photo of Taggart, would you?”
Sadie shook her head.
“Can you tell me anything else? It might be just a small thing to you, but you never know; it could help.”
Sadie Parker thought for nearly a minute. “No. I was somewhat preoccupied in those days. Please forgive me.”
Shannon took the old woman’s hands in hers. “You have been extremely helpful, Mrs. Parker. There’s nothing to apologize for.” Getting to her feet, she added, “Thank you very much for the tea and cookies.”
Sadie got slowly to her feet.“I don’t have much to do these days, just caring for my flowers and visiting with my few remaining friends, so it’s nice when someone comes and visits.”
“Please keep my card on hand, and if you remember anything else, the smallest thing, don’t hesitate to call.”
Shannon had her hand on the doorknob when Sadie called out, “Oh! I can’t believe I didn’t remember that. I only look at it every day.”
“What?”
“Come with me, young lady. I want to show you something.”
She led Shannon towards the back of the apartment. Just past the bathroom was a small room fixed up as an office.
Entering it, she turned and said, “This was my Sam’s room. I’ve kept it exactly the same since the day he left me. Come in and look at this. Jack Taggart drew it, and Sam liked it so much, Jack sold it to him. I was uncomfortable with it at first, but now it’s like an old friend.”
Shannon stood in the doorway. On the opposite wall was a framed pencil sketch, done in a vigorous, masculine style. The subject was Olivia at maybe twenty years old, sprawled on a sofa. Her face had a faraway, dreamy expression, and a shy smile flickered around her mouth.
She was also naked.
***
I spent four hours on Saturday morning, cleaning the house as best I could. My feeling is that I make a pretty thorough job of it, but on several occasions women have gone into a bathroom I’d just cleaned and spent an hour cleaning it again.
Sandra had called the evening before to say that she and Jeremy had to drive into town anyway, so they’d be happy to save me the trip out to Oakville.
It all sounded reasonable enough, but I was pretty certain she simply wanted to check out whether everything was kosher at the old homestead: no police, no gawkers – and no bloodstains on the porch.
The previous day’s events at the cop shop had knocked me for a loop. Shannon’s call in the evening hadn’t helped in the least, since it was abundantly clear she was very upset. I didn’t blame her. I was very upset.
Palmer was going to haul in the two hookers who’d told me their story, and they’d blame me for getting them dragged into the mess. Imagining them showing up at the house simultaneously with Sandra and Jeremy made me break out in a cold sweat.
Shannon had asked for every detail of my meeting with Palmer. Since she hadn’t let me know what was happening at her end for nearly two days, I hadn’t been able to tell Palmer anything about her trip, which had infuriated him even more.
“I did have to tell him who Olivia’s family is,” I told Shannon.
“Did you tell him about the journal?” she demanded.
“No. I haven’t had a chance to look at it yet, and it just slipped my mind. Is that bad?”
“No, it’s very good. The last thing we want is for him to tell Maxine St. James we have copies. I’m sure he’ll get in touch with her now. Does he know we have Jackie out at Sunnyvale?”
I smiled. “Somehow that slipped my mind, too.”
“A small miracle, as well.”
“Once my bass player made his call, Palmer knew he had me by the balls. He told me I had to answer his questions or go to jail.”
“Why didn’t you call that lawyer?”
“He caught me off guard. I didn’t have time to think anything through.”
“And now he’s going to come after me – and rightly so. I’m also worried about what he’s going to stir up with his blundering around. The man makes the bull in a china shop look graceful.” She sighed.“I’ll keep in close touch with you. Anything happens, I want to know – day or night. Understand? Here’s my cell number, but make sure no one else gets it. The last thing I need is Palmer calling me up, though I suppose he can always get the number by other means. Let’s just not make it easy for him.”
“I’m really sorry this happened.”
“To be honest, Andy,” she’d said tiredly, “I am, too. I have enough problems.”
I’d just finished house cleaning and was sitting down with a cup of reheated coffee when I heard a car pull in.
Hurrying out the back door, I met Kate and Sandra as they were getting out of the car. Jeremy wisely decided to stay put. He was not welcome in my house.
Sandra had bought Kate a suitcase, a snazzy leather one – something we never would have wasted money on in the past. As we walked up the driveway, I noticed Kate casting sideways glances at the porch. I’d carefully washed off the chalk marks, drawn the blinds in the living room and planned that they’d stay shut all weekend. The front door was also going to be off limits. Whether Kate might have nightmares regardless was a question I couldn’t yet answer. All I could do was be there for her if she did.
Sandra didn’t stay long. It was the first time she’d been in the house since walking out on our marriage, and it was clearly making her uncomfortable. She did want to use the bathroom, and Kate and I went along to dump her suitcase in her room. I’d already shut the door to “Olivia’s room”, but I think both of us wanted to make certain Sandra didn’t see it.
“And you’ll have Kate home on time,” she said at the back door, prior to leaving.
“Absolutely.”
Kate gave her mother a hug. “Thank you for letting me visit Daddy. I really appreciate it. Have fun with Jeremy while I’m gone.”
Sandra’s eyes went wide for a moment, then she shook it off, thinking that her eleven-year-old daughter couldn’t have meant what she’d thought. I wasn’t so sure. Kids grow up far too quickly these days, and I’d noticed a big difference in my little Katy the past few months.
Once the door shut, Kate turned to me. “So should I get to work, or are you going to take me out to lunch?”
“Who said anything about lunch?”
“You should have,” she said with a mock pout. “After all, I don’t come to visit every day.”
“If I were to agree to take you out to lunch, where should it be?”
“I’d like some Greek food, and they have some of the best up on the Danforth, you know.”
“But you don’t like Greek food.”
“I’m trying to broaden my horizons.”
The spell was broken when she began to giggle. “Relax, Daddy. I was just pulling your leg. Pizza is fine.”
“Oh, now I see. Asking for Greek food was just a ploy to get me to order pizza.”
She rolled her eyes. “Would I try something like that on my own father?”
***
O’Reilly’s Grill and Tap House, despite its grandiose name, looked like a dive. The first clue was the two missing letters on the sign over the door. The finishing touch was the erratically flashing neon beer sign in one of the grimy ellipsoid windows that flanked the door.
Shannon took a deep breath and went in.
Conversation stopped when the denizens saw what was silhouetted against the daylight that streamed in behind her.
The place had about a dozen customers of varying ages, all of whom looked rough around the edges, and all of whom were staring intently at the intruder.
With more confidence than she felt, Shannon walked over to the bar.
“You O’Reilly?” she asked the bartender.
He laughed. “Are you kidding? There ain’t been an O’Reilly in this dump for twenty-something years.”
“Are you the owner?”
“I might be. What do you want?”
Shannon looked around. Inside, the place didn’t seem quite so bad, except for the stench of stale beer and cigarettes. Two seats down, an old man was hunched over a plate stacked with what looked like a rather nice pastrami sandwich and equally good-looking fries. Even though it was far too early for lunch, her stomach grumbled in response.
“How about bringing me a beer and what my neighbour down the line is having?”
“We got lots of beers, lady. Which one?”
She smiled. “I’ll let you pick.”
Shannon was aware of a buzz in the room. She didn’t have to ask who it was about.
While the bartender walked down to the small serving window connecting with the kitchen, then served a few customers, she looked around a bit more. All three TVs hanging from the ceiling were tuned to the Yankees pre-game show. By a quirk of fate, they were playing the Toronto Blue Jays that day.
Observing the patrons more closely, she saw that nobody seemed less than forty. The chunky, balding bartender looked pretty close to retirement, so the chances were good he’d been here for awhile.
“Here you go, little lady,” he said, plunking down her beer. “Food will be up in five.”
“So are you the owner?” she asked.
“Are you a cop?” he shot right back.
“Do I look like a cop?”
“You sure do. Smell like one, too.” He tapped his nose. “I got good senses.”
“Well, you’re right and you’re wrong.” She reached into her shoulder bag, taking out the leather case with her PI identity card and sliding it across the bar. “But I used to be a cop.”
“Ontario, huh? What brings you to New York or, more specifically, into O’Reilly’s?”
“I’m looking for information about someone. You been here long?”
“I’ve owned this establishment for twenty years. My name’s Matt Hughes,” he said as he stuck out his hand.
“Shannon O’Brien. Pleased to meet you.”
“So who you looking for?”
“Jack Taggart.”
“Jack Taggart?” He shook his head slowly. “Man, I ain’t thought about Jack for years.”
“He used to come in here a lot, I understand.”
“He practically lived here.”
“Tell me about him.”
“Why you looking for Jack?”
“To tell you the truth, I think he’s no longer among the living.”
“When did he die?”
“When did you see him last?”
The bartender raised his eyebrows but said no more, because the cook called out through the window, “Pastrami up!”
Hughes actually dusted off a jar of Dijon mustard for her, and after pouring a beer for himself, leaned his forearms on the bar.
“You have my attention.”
Shannon worked her interview in around the sandwich and fries as best she could. It had been over twenty-four hours since her last meal.
“Tell me about Taggart.”
“Jack had a big mouth that occasionally got him in trouble, and he thought he was God’s gift to women, but let me tell you, he was friggin’ great company. I never met anybody who could tell a joke like Jack. Most nights he ate his meals here, had a few beers, a few laughs and went home to work. I got a great portrait of my wife that he painted. Traded it for three months’ worth of dinners.”
“He disappeared six years ago.”
“Yeah. We all thought it odd he didn’t stop in to say goodbye. I got a postcard a few days later, or I might’ve called the cops.”
Shannon didn’t have the heart to tell Matt that the card probably hadn’t been from Taggart and had been sent for precisely that reason.
“Did he ever say anything about a girl he was giving art lessons to?”
“The rich brat over in Manhattan? He didn’t say much about her, but he went on and on about her stepmother.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yeah. Bragged to all of us about how he was nailing her every chance he got.”
Chapter 22
Jackie had behaved well enough the previous day that she was allowed to use the extensive gym for an hour the next morning, after which she enjoyed the best massage she’d ever experienced. There had to be something at Sunnyvale to justify the hefty price tag.
Barry met her just after she’d left the Physical Building, as everyone referred to it. Whether it was planned or an accident, Jackie couldn’t tell. She operated always on the assumption that every move she made during the day was carefully monitored. Nighttime appeared to be another matter.
“Did you have a good sleep last night, Jackie?” he asked.
Jackie shrugged by way of an answer.
He pulled her to a nearby bench, where he sat partially turned to her, a leg tucked up. “And how are you really doing? Having any physical effects? Any problems in the night?”
She struggled to keep her face blank. Did they suspect something, or worse yet, know something, or was this just an innocuous question?
“Well, Barry, my head hits the pillow, and the next thing I know, it’s morning.”
“Really? People with a crack addiction usually have trouble restoring their sleep patterns. Quite odd...”
Jackie could have smacked herself in the head. Of course, she knew that. What the hell had she been thinking? “I’ve never had trouble sleeping. My friend Kit took me to a doctor, actually the guy who recommended this place, and he found it hard to believe. I guess I’m just an oddball that way.”
Barry looked at her with an expression that was difficult to read, then got up and walked off.
She kept her head down for the rest of the morning, hyper-aware of how one slip could scuttle this whole operation, taking her job with it. Her gaffe also hardened her conviction that it was time to pull out. She also stayed well away from Olivia but noticed how the girl stared at her during breakfast. She’d have to point out how dangerous that could be if she visited her again in the night.
Just before exercise period, Jackie extracted the transmitter from its hiding place in the back of the chair for the third time since sunrise to see if there was any response from Marvell to her message about what Olivia had said. Roy’s gadget remained obstinately silent.
Where the hell was he?
Moving over to the window, she looked up at the hillside. Could Marvell be up there right now? It was really beginning to creep her out that she hadn’t heard a thing.
“Marvell, you there?” she said into the mike. “I really need a little contact with you about
now. We need to get O and me out of here.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen,” a voice behind her said. Jackie’s guts turned to jelly. In the doorway to her room stood Dr. Smith and two men she’d never seen before: one short and one tall.
The receiving unit from up on the hill dangled from the larger man’s hand.
***
Shannon faced a real dilemma: she needed to be in four places at once.
As part of her original trip east, she had wanted to speak to the lead cop in the St. James murder investigation in Florida six years earlier. She’d contacted him the evening before and tentatively made an appointment with him for the next day. It might not lead to anything startling, but it would give her background she was lacking.
“I have all the time in the world these days,” he’d said on the phone. “Not much to do except fish.”
“How much of the case do you remember?” Shannon asked.
The old cop’s voice suddenly didn’t sound so friendly. “I’m retired, not senile.”
“I’m terribly sorry. That’s not what I meant at all. I used to be a police officer, and my dad was the head of homicide in Toronto. I know how complicated these cases can get. I may have some pretty obscure questions, that’s all.”
“Well, I’ll be at home,” he answered, still sounding miffed. “Give me a call when you land.”
Shannon felt she’d have to handle this one with kid gloves.
She was also toying with the idea of contacting Maxine St. James again. It might prove interesting to see what she’d shake loose by letting old Max in on a few of the things she’d learned on her trip to Brooklyn. It was pretty obvious by now that she was deeply involved with what had happened to Olivia, her brother, and possibly even their mother. Shannon was also itching for a little payback for that stunt with the journal.
Immature? Maybe, but also very overdue.
Next, there was a possible trip back to Toronto. Michael had been correct that Palmer might already have a warrant out for her arrest, but at this point she wasn’t sure she had enough bait to dangle in front of the cop to get her out of that mess. Her professional career, not to mention her freedom, depended on making the correct call on this one.