by Iona Whishaw
“Carl, do you still have that little pin they gave you?” she asked.
“Yeah, why?”
“There was one in the boat with the man who was shot. I wondered if it was yours, but it must have been his.”
“I doubt that. He was hot about the whole business, called them Nazis and fascists.”
“Was Heppwith wearing his, do you remember?”
Carl shook his head in the back seat. “I can’t fully remember. He was wearing blue coveralls and they were kind of loose, so even if he put it on, I might not have seen it. But the other guy was. The guy that was talking to Heppwith after the fight. He had that nice suit on and the swastika pin stood out.”
“Carl, this is important. Is it possible that that man went after Lazek with Heppwith?” Lane asked.
“That’s what I don’t know,” Carl exclaimed, sounding miserable. “I was drunk, and it was so dark. I thought it might be the guy from yesterday, because he seemed to want to kill us, but I didn’t recognize his voice. I wish I could remember!”
They pulled up in front of the station and Lane stopped the car, her hand resting on the gearshift. She had to tell Darling. It wasn’t like evidence, she knew. More of a guess. A hunch. After all, here was Carl with real first-hand evidence, such as he could remember. She should leave it. But she couldn’t. She felt the bubble of certainty that she could not ignore.
“I’ll come in with you. I have to see the inspector for a moment. Then I’ll wait downstairs for you, all right?”
Vanessa leaned over toward Lane and put her gloved hand on Lane’s arm. Carl had gotten out of the back seat and was standing waiting for them. “Miss Winslow, I don’t know how to thank you. I’ve been so dreadful to you. But you’ve found my Carl, you’ve saved our lives, even.”
“Call me Lane, please. You shouldn’t blame yourself for one minute. I thought you were heroic, all the way through it. I couldn’t have coped under similar circumstances, I can tell you.” She laughed. “Especially heroic biting that man’s arm like that. What presence of mind!”
Vanessa smiled. “It was disgusting, actually!”
Inside, Lane said, “Good morning, Sergeant O’Brien. This is Mrs. Castle and her son, Carl. They are here to see the inspector. And I wonder if I could see him for a moment ahead of them?”
“Go on up, Miss Winslow. I’ll tell him you’re on your way. If you two would like to take a seat, please.”
Lane went up the stairs two at a time, wanting to get it over with, wanting them to know what she was certain of, now that she knew. At the top of the stairs she paused, and then made for his office, but he was at the door before she got there.
“Lane. Miss Winslow. You wanted to see me.” His face wore its official expression, but his charcoal eyes looked sad in the shadows of the hallway.
“Yes, Inspector. I . . .” Suddenly, in the station, surrounded by the hard craft of the law, the gathering of evidence, the witnesses waiting downstairs, the men in the cells, her ideas seemed wild to her, suppositions out of nothing.
“Come in here. Do you have something? Should Ames be here?” Ames had heard Lane’s voice in the hall and had wanted to come out of his office, but he thought he’d better let them get on with it. His only concession to the situation was that he was crossing his fingers tightly.
“No. Poor Ames. No. Look, Inspector, I had this idea, it’s so strong, that Lorimer is the one. You see, when I overheard him talking to Townsend the other night, he said he didn’t want to have to take care of things himself again. That ‘again’ made me wonder. What had he done the first time? What had Townsend failed to do? Had someone made an attempt on Lazek’s life before? And then I saw the loose threads on his, I mean Lorimer’s, jacket. I wondered at it because he’s such a fussy dresser. He was wearing an ascot that day I met him, and I thought it incongruous.”
Darling was looking thoughtful and had sat on the corner of his desk, with his arms crossed. “How is the business of the loose threads significant?”
Lane smiled ruefully. “Yes, I know, it sounds ridiculous in the light of day, doesn’t it? But there’s the swastika pin that was in the boat. What if in the struggle Lazek grabbed the lapel of the man who shot him and pulled the pin off. No, before you say anything, Carl says that there was a man in a suit at the meeting, and he was wearing one of those pins.”
Darling thought for a moment, his mouth working. “The thing, Miss Winslow, and by the way, Ames painted the exact same scenario with Lazek pulling the pin off his attacker’s lapel, is that the only fingerprints on that gun are Heppwith’s. Lorimer could have been shooting people all over Kaslo, but the law can never get him without better evidence.”
“Damn,” said Lane, deflated. “I didn’t know about the fingerprints. It does seem open and shut, doesn’t it? I suppose it was Townsend with him after all. He certainly showed himself to be of a murderous turn of mind yesterday. I wish we knew if there’d been any other attempt on Lazek’s life.”
“Miss Winslow, thank you again for yesterday, but I wonder now if we might get on with the interviews we have to do. Police work, and all that.”
“Yes, of course. I am sorry. If it’s all right, I’ve said I’ll wait for them, but I can wait next door if you’d prefer.” Had his voice softened briefly?
Oh, the things I’d prefer, he thought. “I’ll tell you one thing. After this morning we are fairly certain it wasn’t Townsend. Heppwith doesn’t recognize him. There now, Miss Winslow. Make of that what you will.” He stood up and waited for her to turn and leave his office.
But she stood looking at him. “You know,” she said, “I . . .”
“Yes. All right. It’s fine,” he said gently. It wasn’t. He didn’t even know what she was about to say. That she was sorry, he supposed.
Ames uncrossed his fingers.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
“Carl, why were you at the creek in the first place?” Lane was driving Carl and his mother to where he had left his car behind an abandoned cabin up a lonely road near Kaslo. They had taken a gas can and Carl had filled it. Vanessa was already in the car, but Lane and Carl were standing outside.
“I’d heard Lazek had lived there. When I heard he’d died I got frightened, but I also wanted to see if he’d left anything there that said whether he had any family. I thought they should know. But anything he had was gone, except his bedding. I stayed there one night, but I was out of money and was hungry. I’d been hiding in an old abandoned cabin, and I couldn’t stand it anymore. I walked back out and hitchhiked to Kaslo to telephone Mother. I was terrified one of them would see me, so I hurried back to the creek to wait. Mother wasn’t sure how she could get there, but she said she knew someone she could phone, so I waited by the side of the road. I thought the guy was some friend of hers, but then he pulled a gun. That’s about when you came in.”
“And you thought it was the man who threatened you that night?” Lane asked.
“I did at first. But then I was surprised because I didn’t recognize his voice. He was waving a gun at us. I was terrified. I kept thinking that someone had been sent to find me and that we were done for.”
“Listen, Carl,” Lane spoke quietly so that Vanessa wouldn’t hear. “If that’s not the man who killed Lazek, then whoever did is still out there. You need to be careful. Stick to home a bit more. I don’t want to alarm you. I think the police will have it sorted, but—”
“Oh, don’t worry, Miss Winslow. I will be sticking to home. Poor Mum has tried to cope on her own. It’s funny, you think you want to get away so badly, and then when you can’t go home, you miss it more than anything in the world.”
Darling and Ames sat in the café. It was late enough that a booth in the corner was free. April was charm itself and recommended, as she supplied them with plates of sandwiches, that they give the apple pie a go for dessert.
“Great minds, sir.”
“Quite. But you see the problem. We don’t have proof.”
“I must say, it’s an awful risk to take. What did Lazek have on him? It must have been big to need him out of the way. And what happens if he finds out the man he thinks saw him is still alive?”
“We’ve locked up his henchman and the man Lorimer evidently set up to carry the can, but Lorimer’s election is coming up soon. Surely he wouldn’t go about shooting anymore people. It would draw the wrong kind of attention,” Darling pointed out. “But he can’t afford to have Carl out there in the long run. For now Lorimer doesn’t know we’ve foiled his plan and have Townsend in jail. If we can’t find a way to nab him, Carl may have to change his name and leave town. Give them a call and tell them to lie low.”
Back in the office Ames tried to call the Castles’ number. “There’s no answer, sir!” he called out from his office. But his boss didn’t hear him, because a call had been put through to him.
“Darling.”
“Inspector. I’m worried about them. I know Lorimer may not know yet that Townsend failed, but when he doesn’t hear from Townsend he’ll know something’s wrong. I wanted to let you know I’ve taken Carl and his mother to the little store in Balfour. Mr. Bales can put them up for a bit. But you’ll have to find out who the real killer is, or they’ll never be safe.”
A number of sarcastic replies hung about Darling’s lips, but uppermost in his mind was the relief that she had not been mad enough to put them up at her house. “What a good idea, Miss Winslow. Putting them in hiding and suggesting what our next move ought to be. I’ll just go along and tell the lads here that we’d better catch the real killer, then, shall I?” All right, so he’d been unequal to the temptation.
“And when you’ve done that, you might hop to it and find the Armstrong and Hughes antiques.”
So had she. Darling hung up the phone, smiling.
“Ames, you’ll be happy to know Carl and his mother are safe. Miss Winslow has stashed them in that store in Balfour.”
“Wow, she—”
“Please don’t, Ames. Of course, she couldn’t resist telling us our job. She’d like us to hurry up and find the real killer, and the antiques. Yes, what is it?”
O’Brien had come upstairs and found Darling and Ames in the hall. “There’s a gentleman here to see you, sir. That Mr. Lorimer. Shall I send him up?”
“Now what’s he up to?” Darling wondered.
A Month Earlier
“Shall I show him in?” The receptionist, who was new at her job, sounded uncertain on the intercom. This had freed up his more experienced secretary to do work outside of the office. Lorimer had been charmed by this new girl’s lack of confidence. He’d bring her around. She was blond, pretty, and personable. Just what a man needed at the front desk.
“Did he give his name?”
“No, sir.”
“Could you ask him, please?” Lorimer leaned into the intercom, lending the request a slightly sarcastic tone. She was a looker, but this was a little too much.
“I did, sir. He wouldn’t say.”
This put Lorimer on alert. The visitor wasn’t a citizen looking for help from a councillor. The councillor was irritated. He’d already made it clear that his “field men,” as he liked to think of them, should not approach him through the office. “Better show him in,” he said curtly, pulling his finger away from the intercom button and clasping his hands tightly.
The door opened and the receptionist stepped in and let a tall, gaunt man in an ill-fitting suit walk through, and then she hesitated, looking at Lorimer. She wanted to ask if there was anything else, but the expressions on the faces of both men made her feel that she was in unknown territory. Lorimer unclasped his hands and waved one at her impatiently so that she backed out hurriedly and closed the door.
The man stood with his hands in his pockets contemplating Lorimer and then sat down and crossed his legs. He did not remove his hat. Lorimer frowned, feeling a kind of fury building from somewhere inside. Where were they getting these men? He’d have to have a word.
“What have you got for me?” he asked. He wanted to say, “How dare you sit without being asked?” He had a precise view of hierarchy and what was owed to whom.
The man did not speak for a long moment. He used the time to look around the walls of the office, and then back at Lorimer. “Nice office, but small. When you are mayor you will have that big one down the hall. I see the picture of King George. Did you always have that?” The man had an accent of some sort. He stood up suddenly and made for an elaborately framed document on the opposite wall. “Ah. You have a law degree. That is fortunate, is it not? It will make everything easier. The printing is very good too, considering it is from . . . where? Ah, Manitoba. I had a friend who was a printer. Perhaps you remember him. Hans Bremmer.”
Lorimer’s outrage had reached a fever pitch. His hand began to move toward the intercom button. The visitor caught the movement and returned to his chair, his hand raised.
“I see that you do not appear to know me. Please. There is no need to raise the alarm. I am quite harmless. If I were not, I expect you and I would both have been dead long ago.”
Lorimer found this statement far from reassuring. He was frantically thinking about how he could alert his receptionist to bring in the security man from the front door of city hall, but he feared the reaction of this man to any move to push the button to get her attention.
“You know, your question to me was something like, ‘What have you got for me?’ But I think you will see on consideration that that should be my question. Don’t you agree?”
It was only now that Lorimer began to home in on the accent. Very pronounced. Russian was it? Dutch? He tried to remember the people he had dealt with over the years. German. The man spoke a little like the Mennonite farmers Lorimer had heard as a child when his mother had taken him to buy cheese at a local farm. And then he knew . . . the wave of fear started somewhere in his depths and he could feel it threatening to overwhelm him.
“Ah. I see it is beginning to dawn on you, yes? I have waited a long time, Councillor Lorimer.” He emphasized councillor. “In fact I never thought I’d see the day, except I saw your picture in the paper. ‘Notable businessman,’ it said. You are running for mayor. That’s nice, yes?” The man smiled suddenly, incongruously and frighteningly.
“How dare you come in here!” sputtered Lorimer. “Get out!”
“Ah, that’s more like the old Lorimer I knew, eh? I come asking for something, and you tell me to get out. And I will, in just a moment. You owe me, and my people for that matter, a lot of money. I checked, after the war. Oh. Did I tell you I enlisted? I was trained in small arms work. Anyway. I never went back to Peace River because the land you provided, even you will admit, was garbage, no? But I asked my friend there and you know, they never did see all the money they were promised. I checked with the railway company you worked for as well, but they said
everything they’d been given was passed on to the administrators of the so-called program. To you, in fact. Actually, I don’t need the money. I have a job, and most of my friends probably have made out okay.” The visitor paused, waved his hand to encompass the plush office with the dark panelling and brass ink stand. “And obviously you’ve put the money to good use. But if I think about what would be best, I think you should step down and give up your campaign to be mayor. I’m not committed to that, though. If you give back the money to the community, I could overlook this mayor business. Some of the children have grown up and would like to go to university. The money would help them. They had a hard childhood, you know, limited food, poor housing, lousy crops. It would be such a good thing for them at last.”
This speech over, Lorimer stood up and leaned forward on the desk. “Blackmail is a crime and I’ll have the law on you. Now leave!”
The visitor stood up. “Ah, yes. Your degree. Of course, you know the law.” He seized Lorimer’s pen and dipped it in ink, took an envelope that still lay on Lorimer’s desk, and wrote something. “I don’t know it like you do, of course, but I’m sure a criminal shouldn’t be running for mayor. Here is the company I work for. When you have come back to your senses you can contact me here and we can make arrangements, no? After all, for all I know, you will make a good mayor. You know how to run what I have heard is called a ‘tight ship.’”
“May I smoke?” Lorimer was languidly reaching into his jacket for his cigarettes. He was seated in an unfamiliar position for him, on the other side of a desk, and was making a champion effort to portray the man who is most anxious to help the police with their inquiries.