A Sorrowful Sanctuary

by Iona Whishaw

  Ames parked to one side, out of the stream of cars, which had died down in any case, as the first wave of guests had left. He could hear the music through his open window. “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy.” He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel and enjoyed this feeling of—dare he call it—friendship with Miss Winslow. He began to ruminate on how he might take that final step and break up with Violet, and then he saw he was blocking a car trying to leave. He pulled down the driveway and turned off the engine.

  Lane stood for a moment at the threshold of the dance floor. There were fewer people sitting around the edges. Most of the older people seemed to have left, and many more young people were flinging themselves around the dance floor. Smoke nearly obscured the high ceiling, and the heat of the room and the noise of people calling out over the din of the music made Lane pause. Her bag was on the terrace, and she’d have to plow through the gyrating throng to get to it. Then she realized she could go around the outside, just past the driveway. She’d seen a gate into the back garden. As she turned to go back outside, a couple barrelled into her, issuing drunken, laughing apologies. She smiled and lit back out into the hall and down the steps to the driveway. She could see Ames where he had pulled up farther along the lower curve of the driveway to wait for her.

  The ornamental gate was a high and elaborate affair made of iron. She hoped it was not locked, but it opened easily and she darted through. The lights on the terrace had taken on a slightly forlorn air, now that the partygoers had gone inside. The path to the terrace was grass, and a high hedge blocked the house. As she approached the terrace she heard voices. Lorimer! She stopped and pulled close to the hedge and stood still in the dark.

  “You’re a complete incompetent. I asked you to take care of this, but I see now it is yet another thing I’m going to have to do myself.”

  “No, sir. I have it in hand.” The second man was Townsend! Lane held her breath. Lorimer wasn’t firing Townsend for being a thief; he was scolding him for . . . what? And what would he have to do on his own? Both men had stopped talking. Had they left?

  “You know the saying. It’s a fool who gets a dog and then does his own barking. You’re my dog, Townsend. I suggest you don’t forget it.” Footsteps receded across the terrace.

  Two sets of footsteps? She waited another long, agonizing moment and then risked inching forward to where she could see the terrace more clearly. Townsend was glaring out at the darkness, his hands in his pockets. Would he never bloody move? Lane could see her bag where she’d left it, under one of the chairs at the edge of the terrace nearest her.

  She tried to make herself small and wished she had her watch, because she was sure it had been nearly half an hour since Darling had spoken with Lorimer. One thing was certain. What she had seen was not Townsend getting what Ames would call the bum’s rush—it was an unhappy employer dressing down an underling.

  Finally Townsend moved and appeared to be about to leave the terrace. He turned toward the path she was cowering on in the dark, as if he were going to skip the increasingly loud dance hall and slip away by the side entrance. Lane looked around in the dark, wondering where she could go, and realized she’d have to run to the end of the hedge and try to get around it before he got there. And then he pulled out a cigarette case and, having tapped the cigarette and lit it, he turned, kicked at a chair, and disappeared into the house, leaving a trail of smoke. On wings, Lane bolted to the terrace, snatched up her bag, and flew out of the garden.

  “Let’s get out of here,” she said to Ames, between gasps for air.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  The night man at the police station expressed no surprise at seeing his boss come in the door looking irritated. He’d seen Darling irritated when he’d been on day shifts as well, though he was surprised to see him in evening dress.

  “You look nice, sir. In mufti for some sort of stakeout?”

  “Very funny, Officer Paxton. I had a proper invitation to this do, if you must know, and I’m now waiting for Constable Ames get back here. I’m going up to my office. Send him up when he gets here.”

  “Sir.” The officer, relieved not to have to entertain his boss, went back to his perusal of the back copies of Popular Science he got from his cousin, stateside. There was an article about outfitting a station wagon for camping and fishing that had been holding his interest until Darling had appeared.

  Feeling ridiculous now in his evening clothes, Darling sat down and switched on his desk lamp. The file on the robberies, the missing Carl Castle, and the dead Klaus Lazek were stacked neatly in the wooden inbox. He pulled the Lazek file out and opened it. He had put Lazek’s returned letter into the file, along with Lane’s translation. Of course, Lazek had not named the man he had confronted, but the words “railway dictator” stood out. Mrs. Enderby had told Lane she thought Lorimer used to work for the railway. He had certainly been splashing himself about with adverts in the papers and wall posters as the election loomed. It would have been easy for Lazek to know who he was and how he could be got at. Darling took a lined foolscap pad from his desk, uncapped his fountain pen, and began a list.

  Find out about Lorimer’s past work.

  How long had he been established in Nelson? He could not remember him from before the war, but anything could have happened in town while he himself had been away in England fighting.

  Find out about Klaus Lazek’s background.

  Lane had said she remembered something about German refugees from the Sudetenland region of Bohemia in Czechoslovakia. Was he one of these? He added:

  Call RCMP at detachment nearest to this Tomslake place.

  He wanted to think about what the connection between Lorimer and Lazek might be, but he cautioned himself. There may be no connection at all, in which case he did not want to waste time trying to understand the meaning of such a connection. And even if there were one, it was a long way from implicating a local man of influence, however shady. Darling cautioned himself again that he didn’t even have real proof of shadiness, let alone any connection with a sordid and botched up shooting of an immigrant all the way up the lake in Kaslo.

  Darling thought again about the mechanics of the shooting. If, as Lane suggested, Lazek had been shot and then fallen into the boat, it would make more sense if he and his killer were standing on a pier of some sort above the boat. Though, he supposed, it could have happened on a beach. Lazek is about to take off in his boat, he’s shot, he falls awkwardly into the boat, or is pushed. That would account for the boat being swamped with water. But so would the violent storm that night.

  Look more closely along the waterfront in Kaslo. The fight was there, likely at night, and so probably was Lazek’s killing.

  He put down the pen and looked at his watch. Where the blazes was Ames? He could have been there and back five times by now!

  “Are you sure?” Lane asked. She looked straight ahead. Ames had been taking a circuitous route back toward Baker Street, going downhill and then dodging up the hill, and was now moving north, above the main street.

  “Yup. He’s about a block and a half behind me. He fell back when we came up here. Too obvious.”

  “Blast. I don’t know where the hotel has parked my car. It must be on the street somewhere, or in the alley. If I could find it, we could divide up, confuse him. He must have seen me. I saw Lorimer go back into the hall, and then Townsend followed him a few moments later. Townsend must have seen me going past the front entrance to get back to the car. And he must have spotted me at the party when I spotted him. Damn. I wasn’t sure that he recognized me. Do you think he knows you’re a policeman?”

  “Not necessarily.”

  “Okay, if you can keep this far ahead of him, come down the block and turn so that you’re in front of the hotel, and stop before he gets around the corner. I’ll crouch down, and when he sees only you he’ll think that I’ve gotten out. Move out sl
owly to give him time to see you, and you’ll see if he continues following you. If it’s me he’s after, he may stop to think about what he ought to do next.”

  Ames drove slowly down the street, crossed Baker, and watched the car behind lag a block behind. He’d just have time to go around to the front of the hotel and make a show of saying goodnight. “Okay, now. Down you go. I’m going to open the passenger door so that it looks like you’re out, and I’ll wave and then close it.”

  He paused in front of the stairs and reached across to throw open the passenger door, watching in the rear-view mirror. The pursuer came slowly around the corner and stopped. Ames waved and shouted, “Good night!” and then closed the door. He fiddled with his gearshift as though it was stuck and then slowly pulled away, watching the car behind him.

  “He’s turned off his headlamps,” Ames whispered. “It looks like he bought it. I think he’s planning to stay put and keep an eye on you.”

  “Great. Drive up toward the station, only go a block past it to make sure he hasn’t decided it’s you he wants, and then go around and park at the side. And then let’s wait a bit before we get out,” Lane said.

  Paxton, the night man, was rendered nearly speechless at the sight of Lane in her dazzling party clothes coming through the door. Between the inspector in evening dress and this apparition of loveliness, he could be forgiven for thinking he was suddenly in his very own Ellery Queen novel. He pulled himself together only when he saw that Lane was followed by Constable Ames looking, Paxton thought, a bit smug.

  “How do, Paxton. Is the inspector upstairs?”

  “Yes, he is. Good evening, miss.” Paxton was on his feet.

  “This is Miss Winslow, Paxton. It’s all right, sit down, we’ll show ourselves up.”

  Paxton did not sit down but went to the bottom of the stairs and watched Ames and Lane till they turned at the top of the stairs, and then shook his head, uttering a silent “Whew!”

  Lane threw herself into a chair in front of Darling’s desk. “We’ve solved one question, anyway,” she announced to the dumbfounded inspector. “That Townsend man—of course we have no way of knowing that’s his real name, but it’s a fairly unusual name to come up with on the spur of the moment, so let’s say it is—is one of Lorimer’s henchmen. When I went back for my bag, there they were, as thick as thieves, talking together. Only, of course, the trouble is, I can’t go back to the hotel now, which is a shame, because I’d like to go to bed. Oh, but you shouldn’t worry. He thinks I’m there.”

  “You might want to start again at the top. Ames, have you any useful contribution? Because if not get back to your lair and make a list for tomorrow. You can use this as inspiration.” Darling handed Ames his own list and then turned back to Lane. “Well? Why can’t you go to bed, again?”

  Lane told the whole story from the beginning. Darling frowned and leaned back in his chair. “One might almost suppose you’d left your bag behind on purpose,” he said.

  “Only a suspicious policeman would. I haven’t got that much foresight. The point is, we have a situation. Oh, and by the way, any acknowledgement that I was right in my suspicion that Lorimer might have that man in his employ, gratefully accepted.”

  “I don’t see where we’re in a position to be flippant. There’s a man of unknown capacity for violence parked outside your hotel. Now what would he think he could do? What would Lorimer have told him to do?” Darling asked.

  “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. The question is, what is he aware of, and what is he afraid of? He knows you’re a policeman, but the only thing he knows for sure that I could tell you is that he is the same man who claimed to be working for the phone company. He sees me come back for my bag, follows me out and sees Ames and not you, and decides to follow to see where I go. He’s hardly going to surge up to my room to attack me. That would attract a lot of unnecessary notice. In fact, I’m sure that having assured himself I’m safely in the hotel, he will leave. He and Lorimer will have to get into a scrum tomorrow to decide what, if anything, to do about it. If he’s smart, Lorimer, I mean, he won’t do anything, because anything he does to try to fix the problem will only draw more attention. I bet the tail has already gone home to bed.”

  Darling grunted and then shouted, “Ames!”

  “Sir?”

  “Go back to the hotel and see if the car that followed you is still there. And while you’re at it go into the hotel and make sure that there isn’t someone in the lobby waiting, and ascertain from the front desk that no one has asked for Miss Winslow.”

  “I don’t like this,” Darling said, when Ames had clattered down the stairs.

  “I know, darling. But there’s nothing to worry about. The car will be gone, you’ll drop me off at the hotel, and I’ll have a big breakfast in the morning and then drive home unmolested and be out of your hair. I’ll get back to my garden and my life at King’s Cove with all the old dears. From time to time I’ll come into town and you’ll take me to lunch at Lorenzo’s, as usual.”

  Darling pulled her hands, which had been resting on the desk, into his. “But things are not as usual, are they? You won’t stay out of my hair. You’ll find a way to interfere, and we shall have to have words about that. I don’t want to argue with someone I love as madly as you. You are nosey and get into trouble, and then I’m forced to come to the rescue, albeit too late, which you don’t like.”

  “Really, Inspector. You’re making heavy weather of this. I’m capable of looking after myself, as you well know. I’ll stay out of your way, I promise, and I won’t need you.” They interlaced their fingers, and Lane tried not to feel her heart racing.

  “That’s a shame. I’d like to be needed. Not to pull you out of burning cars or stop madmen from shooting you, but for the other . . . I keep trying to imagine how it will be when we are married.”

  Lane withdrew her hands and shifted back in her chair. He wasn’t proposing to her; it was a bit of silliness, she knew. I’m supposed to feel elated, she thought, but all she felt was a wave of uncertainty. “Don’t be silly. You can’t want to marry me. It’s . . . well, it’s impossible, isn’t it? Let’s go on as we are, what?”

  Darling, suddenly exposed by this easy dismissal of his feelings, stood up and went to the window. “What’s keeping Ames?”

  Lane watched him, crestfallen. Confused now, and fearful that she had destroyed what she so wanted to keep, she stood up and put her wrap on. “I’m sure he’ll be here any moment. I’ll pop down and wait for him outside. You both should go home and get some sleep. You’ve lots to go on with in the case.” She turned and went out the door.

  Darling followed her a moment later, and they were standing, not talking, when Ames pulled up with the unsurprising news that the car that had followed them was gone, and no inquiry had been made at the hotel about Miss Winslow.

  Lane turned to the desk. “Goodnight, Officer Paxton. Inspector.” She glanced into Darling’s eyes and went out the door.

  “Miss Winslow,” he returned. “Get on home after this, Ames. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Ames watched this interaction, his heart sinking. Now what? He could scarcely leave them alone for a minute, he thought, and an arctic front would move in.

  Outside the hotel he stopped the car. “Miss Winslow,” he said as she went to open the door. She stopped and looked at him. “Miss, there’s none better in all the world.”

  She smiled sadly at him. “I know that, Ames.”

  Ames was making notes as the man on the other end of the phone talked. “Wait,” he said suddenly, “can you just go back and read me that last set of names?” He hung up the phone, saying “Aha!” out loud to himself, and made for Darling’s office. He was about to knock but then hesitated. Darling was standing at his window with his hands in his pockets, a pose Ames recognized as Darling’s lost-in-thought stance.

>   “I can hear you there, Ames. You’d better come in, and you’d better have something for me.” Darling turned, raising his eyebrows in expectation.

  Cool customer, Ames thought. He doesn’t look as though he’s lost a wink of sleep. But this was good. “I think so, sir,” he said in a triumphant tone. “I’ve been on to the RCMP in Dawson Creek, and guess what?”

  “Ames!” Darling warned.

  “Right, sir. So I initially asked if they had anything on a Hans Bremmer or a Klaus Lazek, but they didn’t. However, he said there was a German community there that had come before the war as refugees. He said a lot of them had dispersed, and the program that sponsored them, which was run by the CWR, had terminated and handed the administration to the settlers themselves. He said he’d take a drive out to see if anyone could remember Bremmer or Lazek, and he’ll get back to me tomorrow.”

  “Why would a railway company be running a program for refugees? Did Canada take a lot of refugees during the war?”

  “Search me, sir. I could run down to the library and look at pre-war papers to see what was in the news. I honestly don’t think so. But that’s not the big news.”

  “Do I look like someone who wants to play games?”

  “No, sir,” said Ames hastily. “One of the administrators of the program was a man named Lorimer.”

  “You don’t say,” Darling said, fully engaged now. “Did the RCMP give any details?”

  “No, sir. He was just reading off the names of people involved in the program. I could go down to the library and get into the old papers and see what I can find.”