“So she called the wedding off.”
“No, it wasn’t her. It was him. She was prepared to stick by him through thick and thin, Wilma was. She went to see him every day at the hospital, and he just refused to talk to her. He just sat staring at the wall, she told me. She didn’t know what to do. So when spring rolled around, she just decided to go back to baseball, and she never came home again, except to visit.”
“That’s very sad,” I said.
“And once she hooked up with that Virna, she changed.”
“How?”
“She just kind of hardened her heart. After Morley got better, maybe he wanted to marry her. But it was too late. And I can’t say as I blame her. Because Morley still acted pretty cuckoo, if you want to know the truth. He never did hold down a real job, and he became kind of the town eccentric, wandering around at all hours, dressed in all manner of strange get-ups. But likable, you know? He wasn’t dangerous or anything. They gave him some kind of shock therapy, like they did in those days, and some sort of experimental surgery, and he just sort of flattened out. He lost part of his mind, I guess. He was never as wild again, but he didn’t have any drive and he wasn’t smart any more. Well, you’ve met him. That’s how he’s been ever since.”
The front door opened, and we heard the clatter of footsteps and the chatter of voices. Gladys looked at her watch.
“Oh, my goodness, I’ve been babbling on and not looking at the time. Here’s my group from the Golden Years Lodge. I’m afraid I’m going to have my hands full for a while.”
She got heavily to her feet and went to the door. I followed her, thanking her for the tea and her kindness to a stranger.
“You know what I always say, dear,” she said, patting my arm. “A stranger’s just a friend you haven’t met yet.”
Chapter 26
By four that afternoon, Andy and Deutsch had finished reading through the interview transcripts and statements from all of the people who had been at the banquet. Grenfell, Tremblay, and Resnick came back to report on their first round of door-to-door.
“What’ve you got?” Deutsch asked. “Start with you, Tremblay. Who was at the bar?”
“First we had to find the bartender, Rock. He wasn’t at home.”
“He was shacked up with his squeeze,” Resnick laughed. “He wasn’t pleased to see us. He was so hungover he didn’t know which way was up.”
“I don’t care about the state of his health,” Deutsch said. “What did he tell you?”
“He gave us a list of the people he remembered, about twenty of them,” Tremblay said. “Some names already known to this office.”
“A bunch of rounders, for sure,” Resnick added.
“We talked to as many as we could find, and got more names from them. We’re up to fifty-three, now, in addition to the ones we knew about already. The constables are still out talking to them, but we ran the names through the computer. And we’ve come up with something interesting.”
“Yeah, wait ’til you hear this, Sarge,” Resnick added. “We’ve got a live one.”
“Nathan Rowley,” Tremblay interrupted, glaring. “He’s got a record that you should know about.”
“Never heard of him,” Deutsch said.
“He’s new in town. He lives with his aunt, Ruth Fernie, over on 28th Street near the Convention Centre.”
“Ruth Fernie? The Ruth Fernie from the Hall of Fame?” Andy asked. “She found the body.”
“Exactly. The same Ruth Fernie. Rowley is her nephew. He’s been staying with her for the last four months, working in the Wal-Mart warehouse.”
“You going to get around to telling me what’s interesting about this guy any time soon?” Deutsch asked.
“He’s on parole. He served three years for a series of assaults in Saskatoon,” Tremblay said.
“Yeah? So what?”
“He specialized in old ladies, Sarge,” Resnick said. “That’s so what. Broke into their houses in broad daylight, roughed them up and stole their money. But it seemed like he enjoyed the rough stuff. They never had much cash, and he didn’t take anything else. TVs or anything like that he could sell.”
“Have you got a printout?” Deutsch asked.
“Right here, sir,” Tremblay said, handing it to him.
“Good work,” Deutsch said, then began to read. Tremblay shot his partner a smug glance, pleased with the boss’s approval.
“I’m going to call the arresting officer in Saskatoon on this,” Deutsch said. “See if he can tell me any more about this character.”
He went to a phone at the other end of the office.
“You guys go on,” he added. “Tell Andy what else you’ve turned up.”
“Has anyone talked to Rowley yet?” Andy asked.
“No, we just learned about his record,” Tremblay said.
“You said some of the others in the bar are known to the police.”
“Nobody as interesting as him,” Resnick said. “Got guys did some B and E’s, drunk driving, cigarette smuggling. A couple of hookers in there, and their pimps. Small stuff. One guy can’t stop beating on his wife. But nobody looks as good as Rowley. Just feels right.”
Deutsch came back from the phone.
“The guy who handled the case down there says that none of the women were killed, but he threatened them with it. Terrorized them, played with them, made sure they got really scared. One of them he choked until she was unconscious, but she lived. Another thing. He didn’t steal the big stuff, but he always took something away from the scene. A small piece of jewellery, a porcelain figurine.”
“A trophy,” Andy interrupted.
“Exactly.”
“It would be nice to get a look at his house. Can we get a warrant?”
“I don’t think we’ve got enough to convince a judge yet,” Deutsch said. “But I think we’ll invite Mr. Rowley in for a little chat this afternoon. Hugh, find out when he gets off work. Have someone waiting for him when he gets home.”
“Why not do a follow-up on Ruth Fernie’s statement?” Andy suggested.
“Good idea,” Deutsch said. “It’s a legitimate reason to be there, and maybe have a little look-see at the situation. Go for it, Hugh. But first, give us what you picked up at the hotel.”
Corporal Grenfell flipped open his notebook.
“A number of people heard a commotion in the back parking lot after about one in the morning, when the bar let out. Yelling, a woman screamed, but when they looked out the window, there were a bunch of people around, and it didn’t look like anyone was in trouble. A little later, Reverend Henry got up to go to the bathroom, he thinks it was just after two, and he heard a truck pull out of the parking lot. He couldn’t see who was in it, but he’s pretty sure he heard two doors close.”
He looked up from the notes.
“Then Peter Deneka was up at about 5:30. He says even a retired farmer always wakes up early. Anyway, he saw another pickup truck pulling out, and wondered if someone was skipping out on the bill.”
“Christ, from what I’ve seen around here, everybody drives pickup trucks,” Andy said. “That’s not much of a clue.”
“You’re right,” Deutsch said. “I drive one myself.”
“That’s all. I’ve got home addresses on some people who checked out,” Grenfell said. “You want me to follow them up now, or go get Rowley?”
“Go to the Fernie house. Leave your notes here. Dewey, I want you to put together a time chart we can plug the information into as it comes in. Try to get a handle on who was where, when.”
“What about me?” Tremblay asked.
“You get the information from the other guys as they come in and put it in some sort of form for your buddy to use.”
Andy could see that neither was pleased with his assignment. But that’s the way it worked in every pol
ice force. The constable is trusted to dig up the lead, but not to follow it through.
“I’ve been thinking,” Andy said. “Maybe we can’t charge him with anything yet, but I bet we could bring him in for parole violation. I bet there’s a clause in there that says he has to stay away from liquor and bad company.”
“Bingo,” Deutsch said. “We’ve got to have that information somewhere around here. Louis. See what you can get. Look in the computer. If you have to call the parole office in Saskatoon, do it.”
“Right away, Sergeant.”
“Faster than that, if you can,” Deutsch said.
Chapter 27
I spent the next couple of hours reading the research material that I’d borrowed from the Hall and putting my notes from that morning in order. Then I lay down with a book, which ended up face-down on my chest. When I stopped contemplating the insides of my eyelids, it was half-past five. I decided to call home to let them know Andy and I would be a few days late getting back.
We live in a three-storey brick house in the Riverdale neighbourhood of Toronto. I bought it with a former lover back in the days when anything east of the Don River valley, which bisects the city, was considered so déclassé that even a normal working stiff could afford a house there. Now, the area is positively trendy, and my house is worth more than my parents’ whole block in Indian Head, which shows how crazy things are in this country. I could sell my fairly modest place and buy a mansion anywhere else in Canada.
About ten years ago, when the relationship broke up, I bought out his share and turned the house into a duplex so I could afford the mortgage. Andy and I have the top two floors and I rent out the first floor and basement to my friend Sally Parkes and her son, T.C., who has grown into a teenager under my roof. He answered the phone in the deep voice I’m still not used to.
“Hey, T.C., how are you?”
“Hey, Kate. Where are you?”
I explained.
“Cool,” he said. “Another body drops at your feet. Have you ever thought about maybe hiring yourself out as some sort of karmic hit man? Hit woman.”
“Very funny.”
“No, listen. Say someone wants to get back at some enemy, right? So you get a fee up front to just, like, go visit the guy, and it’s easily fifty-fifty something bad’s going to happen to him. If it does, you get the rest. I’ll be your agent. We’ll get rich.”
“T.C., put a lid on that imagination. You’ve been reading too much science fiction. Is your mum around?”
“No, she and Tip are at the vet.”
Tip Keenan, a private detective who had once been a colleague of Andy’s, had been involved in finding a missing woman in our neighbourhood the previous year, and had been involved with Sally since then. He’s a nice guy, and has made a great and pleasant difference in all our lives.
“Why? Is something wrong with Martha?”
Martha is T.C.’s foster dog, a sweet mutt who came into our lives at the same time as Tip.
“No, it’s Elwy, he’s just being a bit weird.”
My heart sank. My cat, Elwy, is pushing twenty. Lately he has been showing some creakiness in his joints and crankiness in his disposition, but he’s been otherwise fine.
“Weird, how?” I asked.
“Well, he’s not eating, for one thing.”
“That’s hardly going to hurt him,” I said, trying to laugh.
“Right. And he was meowing a lot. But it’s been really hot, so that might be what’s wrong. Anyway, Mum took him in just to make sure everything’s okay.”
“Thank her for me. And tell her to phone me when she gets back. Use my phone so it won’t go on your bill.”
I gave him the number and hung up. When Andy called a few minutes later, I almost burst into tears when I told him.
“That’s too bad. But he’s had a lot of good years.”
Andy tolerates cats, but just doesn’t get my bond with Elwy.
“He’s not dead yet,” I said, angrily. “He’s probably fine. I just feel badly that I’m not there with him when he’s . . .”
I choked up again.
“Are you all right, Kate?”
“No, I’m not all right. But thanks for asking.”
“Kate, what are you getting yourself so worked up about? He’s only a cat. And you’ve been expecting him to die ever since I’ve known you.”
“That doesn’t make it any better.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry you’re upset. I hope you hear some good news soon. We’ll talk about it when I get back.”
“When will that be?”
“It might be an hour, it might be two. There have been some developments.”
“What kind of developments?”
“I can’t talk about it right now. Anyway, maybe you’d better have dinner with your parents.”
“I can’t face the early-bird special. I’ll wait for you. I mean, you have to eat sometime, right?”
“Okay, I’ll give you a call before seven to let you know.”
“I’ll be here, or in the bar, if I find some company. Edna would probably like someone to have her cocktail with.”
“Or your new best friend Jack,” he said.
“Your favourite suspect, you mean?”
“He’s getting less favourite every minute,” Andy said.
“Why?”
“I can’t tell you right now.”
“So you’re happy for me to go drinking with him?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” he grumbled. “But you’re a big girl, you can do what you want.”
“You’ve got that right,” I said. He grunted.
“Got to go. I hope Elwy’s all right, really.”
I called my parents next, to tell them I had to wait for a phone call from Toronto and they should go ahead without me.
“If you’re sure,” my father said. “I wouldn’t mind waiting except we have plans to meet with the Denekas and Edna.”
“No, I need to know how Elwy is,” I said.
“I understand,” he said. “I feel the same way about Shadrach. Keep your chin up, and let me know what happens.”
I managed to say goodbye without losing it completely, then sat on the bed feeling like an idiot. Why was I so upset? Andy is right. I’ve assumed that every winter would be Elwy’s last since he was fifteen. And he is only a cat. A homely, portly, not very smart, old black and white alley cat.
I turned the television to the Titan game, which, with the time difference, was already underway, then curled up in the armchair and tried to let it divert me.
There’s a strong bond between human and pet. Maybe because it is without words. Or maybe because it’s the one love we give unconditionally, without keeping any of it held back because of fear of being hurt or betrayed.
We’ve been through a lot together, old Elwy and I. When he was a kitten, I was still in my twenties, living on my own and just starting to make it freelance, flying high and invincible. Anything was possible when Elwy and I started out.
It’s amateur psychology time, ladies and gents. Elwy was, of course, my last link to that young and confident Kate Henry I’d mislaid somewhere along the way. My last link to that knock-’em-dead redhead who got lost somewhere under the wrinkles. Man, what a lot of emotional weight to give to seventeen pounds of fur and purr.
The phone rang. Sally, back from the vet.
“They’re keeping him in overnight. He’s dehydrated. I guess he hasn’t been drinking enough water in all this heat. I’m sorry, Kate, I didn’t notice anything was wrong until today.”
“Sally. No reason to. Did they say what might be wrong?”
“The vet’s going to run some tests. She says she wants to avoid exploratory surgery because of his age.”
“What kind of tests?”
“Blood tests
for liver and kidney function, like that. When a cat’s as old as Elwy, any number of things can go wrong.”
“Whatever it turns out to be, I don’t want him to suffer.”
“I know that. It probably won’t come to that. Don’t worry.”
“Thanks for taking charge. I know it’s not any fun for you, either.”
“It’s nothing, Kate. We love Elwy too.”
Now she was getting weepy.
“This is silly,” I said.
“No one has ever accused us of being sensible, my friend.”
“Thank goodness for small blessings. Give my love to Tip.”
“And ours to Andy. I’ll talk to you tomorrow when I know something. And you let us know when you’ll be coming back. We miss you.”
“Me too.”
I hung up and hugged myself in my chair, wishing Elwy was there to comfort me.
Chapter 28
Hugh Grenfell brought Nathan Rowley in just after six. He was a heavy man in his late twenties, dressed in jeans and a washed-out green Saskatchewan Roughriders T-shirt. His dark blond hair was cut short in front and curled below the collar in back. His weedy moustache and goatee didn’t do much for his looks, which could have used some help. His blue eyes were small and close-set, and his cheeks pitted with acne scars.
It doesn’t matter, Andy thought, big city or small town, this is the kind of petty crook you can spot at a thousand paces.
“Mr. Rowley, thanks for coming in,” Deutsch said, getting to his feet, smiling. He put out his hand. Rowley shook it warily.
Okay, Andy thought, as Deutsch introduced him to the suspect, now we know who’s going to be good cop. What’s my role? He decided to settle for silent cop for the time being and see what was needed.
Rowley took the proffered chair and crossed his right ankle to his left knee. He betrayed his nervousness by jiggling his right foot, but otherwise seemed calm.
“Why we’ve invited you here, Mr. Rowley, is to ask you some questions about Saturday night,” Deutsch said. “I guess you know that one of those older women that were at Shooters that night was murdered.”
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