Prairie Hardball

by Alison Gordon

  “I heard that, yeah,” Rowley said.

  “Well, now, I understand that you were there that night,” Deutsch said, pleasantly, “and we were all hoping you could tell us what you remember. Did you see the women?”

  “Sure,” he said, helpfulness written all over his face. His toe tempo went up a notch. “I seen them. It was hard to miss. They’re not the kind you usually see there on a Saturday night. Hall of Fame, eh? I saw it on TV.”

  “That’s right,” Deutsch said. “There was one of them in particular. You would have remembered her. She was wearing that yellow dress. The old-fashioned uniform with the skirt.”

  “I remember her. Jeez, was she the one that got killed?”

  “Why is it you remember her?”

  “Well, the uniform and all. That was pretty unusual. Me and my buddies from work, that’s who I was with, some buddies from work, we were like, right at the next table, eh?”

  “Go on,” Deutsch said.

  “Well, like we talked to her. We’re on a softball team together, right? Me and my buddies from work. She said that she and the other old ladies could whip our butts. That’s what she said. ‘We could whip your butts. What do you think about that?’ It was pretty comical.”

  “Yeah, comical,” Deutsch said, mildly. “Did you happen to notice anything when they left, whether anyone followed them.”

  Rowley closed his eyes, the better to concentrate, no doubt, or the better to formulate a story. Then he shook his head.

  “No, I didn’t notice anything because we left before they did. Yeah, I remember now, they was all still sitting there when we left.”

  “You’re sure of that?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, nodding like one of those toy dogs in the back of a car. “Because we said goodbye to them when we left, because we’d been talking to them and all.”

  “What time was that, Nathan? Just to keep our records straight.”

  “Oh, like twelve-thirty. Not real late. Like I had to drop my buddies off first, and it wasn’t one o’clock when I got home. My aunt, who I live with? She likes me to be home before one.”

  “I’m sure your aunt can back you up on this, Nathan? The time you got home.”

  “I don’t know. She was in bed. Maybe she heard me. Why?”

  “We’re just trying to get the times straight, who left when, just to narrow things down.”

  “Well, it was definitely before one. I know that.”

  “And it took you half an hour to get home.”

  “Well, like I said, I had to drop my buddies off, eh? Maybe it was after twelve-thirty when we left, but not much after.”

  “And you spoke to the women before you left.”

  “Yeah, they were teasing us about whipping our butts, like I said. So we sort of teased them back. Told them to meet us at the ball diamond the next day. Just kidding around.”

  “How did they seem?”

  “Oh, they was happy. They was a bit drunk if you want to know the truth. Kind of funny to see a bunch of old grannies shit-faced.”

  “You’ve got a thing about old grannies, right, Rowley?” Grenfell asked, quietly. Rowley’s toe stopped tapping. Then Andy knew who bad cop was going to be.

  “I don’t know what you mean by that,” Rowley said, avoiding Grenfell’s gaze.

  “Your record, Nathan,” he said. “You don’t think we know about that?”

  “Wait a minute,” Rowley said, looking from Grenfell to Deutsch, then to the other men in the room. When he got to Munro, silent cop just folded his arms and stared, as if at a zoo exhibit. “What’s this about? You’re trying to pin this on me because I’ve got a record? No way! You got the wrong guy.”

  “Calm down, Mr. Rowley. We’re not charging you with anything. Corporal Grenfell, you shouldn’t have frightened Mr. Rowley. He’s just trying to help. He’s cooperating. He’s being a good citizen.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I’m trying to do.”

  Grenfell sat back in his chair. Chastised.

  “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, eyes down.

  “It’s young Mr. Rowley you should be apologizing to, not me,” Deutsch said.

  Grenfell muttered something no one could hear. It might have been an apology.

  “By the way, would you like a coffee or anything?” Deutsch asked. Rowley jumped at it.

  “Hugh, get our guest a coffee,” Deutsch said. Grenfell got to his feet and went out the door. On his way, with his back to the suspect, he winked at Andy, who had to cough behind his fist to hide his smile.

  “You’re doing fine, Mr. Rowley,” Deutsch said. “Nothing to worry about.”

  “Listen, I just want to help,” he said. “I did my time, and I’m rehabilitated. I’ve changed. That stuff before, I was drinking and doing a lot of drugs. Now I’m straight. I’ve got a job here, and a place to live, you know? I don’t want to cause anybody any trouble, okay?”

  “We don’t want to cause you any trouble, either,” Deutsch said. “Now, can you tell me the names of the buddies you were with. Names and addresses. Just to make sure we’ve got all the witnesses in place.”

  “Sure. Ernie McLeod, he lives here in North Battleford. Jimmy Kelly lives with his girlfriend over here, too. I drove them first. And Banjo Rasmussen, he’s over near my aunt’s place.’

  Deutsch pulled a list out from a file on his desk.

  “Banjo Rasmussen. Would that be Benjamin Rasmussen? Is that his real name?”

  “I guess so,” Rowley shrugged. “Banjo’s all I know.”

  “Well, good,” Deutsch said. “We’ve got these names and numbers already. Just sit tight for a second. I’m going to make a few phone calls.”

  He went out the door, leaving Rowley alone with Andy. After a few minutes on silence, Rowley looked at Andy.

  “How’s it going?” he asked. No reply. “You don’t talk a lot, do ya?” Nothing.

  “Jeez,” Rowley said. “I can’t believe this. I hope you guys don’t think I had anything to do with this.”

  He stood up and began to pace.

  “Man, oh, man. I can’t believe this.”

  Grenfell came back into the room and handed Rowley a Styrofoam cup. He took a sip and grimaced.

  “Don’t you got any sugar?”

  “We’re fresh out,” Grenfell said, then turned to Andy.

  “The punk said anything incriminating yet?”

  “Hey, I don’t have to listen to this shit,” Rowley said. “You got no reason to call me names.”

  He slumped back down in his chair, his knees spread wide.

  “Shut up, punk,” Grenfell said, emphasizing the last word coldly. “We got you for breaking parole, at the very least.”

  “No way,” Rowley said. “What are you talking about?”

  “Your parole prohibits the use of alcohol or consorting with known felons.”

  “I wasn’t drinking anything. Just Cokes. I was the designated driver. How much more law-abiding do you want me to be? I was doing you all a favour, keeping drunks off the road. And my buddies aren’t what you call them, felons. They’re just guys I work with at Wal-Mart. They don’t have no records. You can look it up.”

  “No, they don’t, punk, but I can name you seven other guys in that bar who do.”

  “But I wasn’t with them.”

  “I don’t think that technicality will get in our way if we decide we want to hold you, Mr. Law-and-Order,” Grenfell said, sarcastically.

  He sat glaring at Rowley, who didn’t enjoy the attention. After a few moments of silence, Grenfell leaned forward so his face was just inches from Rowley’s.

  “What did you do, Nathan, wait for her outside the bar and jump her? Or did you follow her to her room?”

  “I didn’t do it. You’ve got to believe me, man.”

  “Y
ou’re going down on this, Nathan. Make it easy on yourself. Tell us what happened.”

  “I want my lawyer,” Rowley said.

  “I bet you do,” Grenfell said. “I just bet you do.”

  He sat back in his chair when Deutsch came back into the room. Rowley stood up.

  “I don’t have anything more to say,” he said.

  “Oh, let me be the judge of that,” Deutsch said.

  “I think Mr. Rowley is trying to tell you thinks he needs a lawyer,” Andy said.

  “I know my rights,” Rowley said. “You have to let me talk to my lawyer.”

  “Relax, Nathan,” Deutsch said. “We haven’t charged you with anything. We are simply looking for information about that night. You have been cooperative so far, and we appreciate it.”

  Rowley glared at Hugh Grenfell.

  “Tell him to back off, then,” he said.

  “Corporal, you’re out of line,” Deutsch said. “Now, we just have a few more loose ends to tie up. Thinking back on that night, did you see anyone else talk to the women at that table?”

  “No. No one I knew, anyways. There were a couple of old guys in suits who said hello. And one old fat guy who was trying to get his wife to leave. She wouldn’t though. That’s all I saw.”

  “All right. That’s very helpful. Now, I was just wondering something else. About the Hall of Fame. You’ve been there, I guess.”

  “Sure. I help out my aunt there sometimes when she’s in charge.”

  “It’s an interesting place. Lots of interesting things. You play ball yourself?”

  “A bit. Just softball now. But I was a pretty good hitter in high school.”

  Deutsch nodded a few times, then rather abruptly stood up. He smiled and held out his hand.

  “We won’t need to trouble you any more today.”

  Rowley looked relieved.

  “By the way,” he added, as an afterthought, “who did you say your lawyer is?”

  “Alan Cramdon,” Rowley said. “In Saskatoon.”

  “Well, I’m impressed,” Deutsch said, then turned to Andy.

  “Ever hear of Cramdon before?”

  “Can’t say I have.”

  “He’s the biggest, meanest, sharpest lawyer going,” Grenfell said. “You know what I mean? You got them down your way, too? The real smart lawyers?”

  “You mean the ones guilty guys hire?” Andy said, picking up the cue.

  “That’s the kind I mean,” Grenfell said, with a nasty smile.

  “By all means give him a call, when you get home,” Deutsch said. “He’ll explain that you’ve got nothing to worry about because we haven’t charged you with anything. But tell him we might want to have another little chat with you in the next few days. He’ll tell you what to do.”

  “Can I go now?” Rowley asked.

  “Sure,” Deutsch said, then called for Constable Resnick, who came into the room a few seconds later.

  “Dewey, can you give Mr. Rowley a ride home?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Great, that’s just great,” Deutsch said. “And maybe you’d just keep an eye on the house tonight. Know what I mean?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right, then, off you go, Mr. Rowley. Thanks for all your help.”

  Rowley, got up, looking confused. Just as he got to the door, Deutsch called to him.

  “Mr. Rowley, you drive a pickup truck, don’t you?”

  “Yes, why?”

  “Just asking. Have a nice evening.”

  The three policemen watched in silence until the suspect was out of the building.

  “What do you think?” Deutsch asked.

  “He’s starting to sweat,” Grenfell said.

  “You give terrific bad cop, by the way,” Andy said.

  “Hey, what about my good cop?” Deutsch asked.

  “Excellent, as well.”

  “Compliments aside, what’s your read on the guy?”

  “He’s worth watching. What did you find out on his alibis?”

  “Two of them weren’t home yet, but Banjo Rasmussen confirms he was dropped off last, around ten to one.”

  “Which doesn’t mean Rowley went right home,” Andy said. “One o’clock was when Virna Wilton was seen leaving the bar. He could have been back at the hotel by then.”

  “His aunt says she heard him come in,” Grenfell added. “I talked to her before the kid got home. Only she says it was 12:30. They didn’t have time to get their stories straight.”

  “Anything else at the house?”

  “I looked at his room. There was an old autographed baseball there. Like the ones they have at the Hall of Fame.”

  “Could be a trophy, like the things he took from those women’s houses before,” Andy said.

  “He says it was his late father’s.”

  “Check it out in the morning,” Deutsch said. “He’s the best suspect we’ve got.”

  Chapter 29

  I showered, put on jeans and a clean T-shirt, then headed downstairs, looking for some company to cheer me up. I met Mrs. Deneka in the lobby, heading for the front door. She stopped when she saw me.

  “What time does the bus get here?”

  “Which bus?”

  “The bus to the ballpark,” she said, impatiently. “We’ve got a game tonight and the bus isn’t here.”

  “I didn’t know about the game,” I stalled, looking around for her husband. “I thought you were having dinner with my parents and Edna.”

  “They’re in the dining room, pretending there isn’t a game. They’re going to get in trouble.”

  “Did you mention it to them?” I asked.

  “No, I just remembered now, when I was in the Ladies’ Room.”

  “Why don’t we go and tell them?” I asked, taking her gently by the arm and steering her towards the restaurant.

  “But the bus might come,” she said, pulling away from me. She was surprisingly strong. “I can’t miss the bus.”

  “They won’t leave without you,” I said.

  “That Virna will make them,” she said. “She wants to get me in trouble again.”

  “I’ll make sure you don’t miss it,” I said.

  I held open the restaurant door for her.

  “I’d drive my own car, but someone took away my keys,” she said, stepping into the restaurant.

  Peter Deneka got up from the table, smiling, when he saw us, and crossed the room.

  “We were wondering where you’d got to,” he said. “We were about to send out a search party.”

  I wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. Diplomacy is not my strength, and I was afraid of appearing condescending.

  “Your wife was wondering about a bus,” I tried. “To go to the ballpark.”

  He understood at once, and looked at her with a heartbreaking combination of love and sadness.

  “There’s no bus, Meg. And no ballpark. That was all over years ago.”

  He took her hand and led her back to the table, after smiling his thanks to me. I watched them go, then went back into the lobby.

  I went into Shooters and found Jack Wilton sitting at the bar, alone, where we had been on Saturday night, less than forty-eight hours before. I joined him and lit a cigarette. He took one too.

  “I’m not very good company,” he said.

  “I don’t expect you to be. Would you rather be alone?”

  “No, I appreciate having someone to talk to. I’m sick of sitting here with my own thoughts.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, just ask.”

  “I just finished talking to my kids, telling them about their grandmother. It wasn’t easy.”

  “How many children do you have?”

  “Two, a boy and a girl. They’re teenagers
now.”

  “Were they close to their grandmother?”

  “Not really, to tell you the truth, which is mostly my fault.”

  “How so?”

  “There was a time in my life when I didn’t see much of her and Wilma, when my children were young.”

  “Why is that?”

  “It’s a long story.”

  “I haven’t any immediate plans,” I said.

  “Well, growing up, all I could think about was getting out of Fort Wayne. I wanted a different life. After I did my time in Vietnam, I went to the University of Chicago. I got my MBA in 1975, then stayed in Chicago, got married to the rich and beautiful daughter of a major manufacturer, and worked my way up his corporate ladder, rung by rung. We had the nice house in the suburbs, membership at the golf club, the whole nine yards. I had reinvented myself into the high-powered big-city guy I thought I wanted to be. And there was no place in my new life for my Mom and Aunt Wilma, I am now ashamed to say.”

  “They wouldn’t have fit in at the country club?”

  “Not hardly. Mom could have maybe passed, but not Aunt Wilma. And certainly not the two of them together.”

  He smiled.

  “Beth never really liked them, either. They embarrassed her. Both of us, to be truthful. And her parents could barely bring themselves to be civil the few times they met. But Mom and Wilma didn’t care. I’m just thankful I came home in time to enjoy some good years with them.”

  His smile turned rueful, and his eyes misted over.

  “At least I had that.”

  I looked away while he wiped the tears.

  “Are you okay?” I asked after a moment.

  “Yeah. I’m fine. Anyway, that’s the story of why Megan and John Junior weren’t close to their grandmother Wilton.”

  “You said that it was the life you thought you wanted. What changed that? What brought you back to Fort Wayne and the flower shop?”

  “Well, on my fortieth birthday, right in the middle of a big black-tie bash she threw for me at the club, I realized that I was deeply unhappy. The old mid-life thing.”

  “Don’t tell me, you bought a red sports car.”

  He laughed.