When Marie Evans and her husband arrived a short time later, Henny immediately ushered them into Nat’s office. “Mr. Nat, this is my friend, David Evans,” she said. “They want you to go on looking for Johanna.”
“Is that right, Mr. Evans?” Nat asked.
“The police are doing nothing. Yes, we’d like you to go on looking for her.” David Evans, short, dark-haired, blue-eyed and dressed in a dark navy-blue suit with a black armband around the left sleeve, looked absolutely exhausted. “I can’t believe this is happening,” he added as he sank into one of the chairs. “Our Johanna is such a wonderful girl, so full of life . . .” He took a long, shuddering breath. “You will find her for us?”
“We’ll do our best, Mr. Evans. I’m afraid you and your wife will have to sign a contract and . . .” he paused, “it could be costly.”
“We’ll find the money somehow. Just go ahead.”
“You are staying in town?”
“We have to go back to Gibsons Landing today. But we have a telephone, so we can keep in touch.”
“I’ve put in a call to my old partner,” Nat said “He’s still with the force, and he’s agreed to check with Missing Persons for me.
I’ll call you if he finds out anything.”
“What about this nightclub place?” David Evans asked abruptly. “What did you find out?”
Nat looked at both of them for a moment, as if deciding what he should say. “She’s a performer there,” he said eventually.
“You mean on the stage?” Marie asked. “Why . . . why would she do something like that?”
“Perhaps she needed the money,” Nat suggested gently.
“What would she need money for?” Evans demanded.
“That’s what we will have to find out,” Nat said, rising to stand behind his chair. “Maggie is waiting outside with the necessary contract. We’ll keep you up-to-date on things.”
It was late afternoon before George called. Henny, who was in the act of covering her typewriter before departing for home, picked up the phone.
“George here, Henny,” he said. “Nat there?”
“I put you through,” she answered. She sat down again and turned to Maggie. “I wait until he speaks to Mr. Nat. Perhaps he has found Johanna.”
“Bad news, I’m afraid,” George told Nat bluntly.
“You’ve found her?”
“There’s a girl in the morgue who fits the description.”
“Where was she found?”
“In a cranberry field. The owners were harvesting the berries when they came upon her. By the look of the body, she’s been dead for some time.” He paused. “Bad business. Can you get your clients to come and identify her?”
“They’ve returned to their home in Gibsons Landing. Will Henny do? She’s known the girl for years.” He paused. “I don’t want to bring the parents all the way from Gibsons only to discover it’s not their daughter.”
“I’ll meet you there. Oh! And by the way, I couldn’t find any kennels called the Circle or Path of Light. Sure you had the name right?”
“That’s all we’ve got.”
“I’m busy on a case at the moment,” George said, “but I’ll have another look when I’ve got some time.”
“Thanks. See you downtown.”
• • •
HENY, WHITE-FACED and nervous, sat in the front seat of Nat’s car. “Perhaps it is not our Johanna,” she said. “But what will I tell Marie if it is?”
From the back seat, Maggie put a comforting hand on Henny’s shoulder. “Let’s face that problem when we get to it.”
George Sawasky and Brian Todd from Missing Persons were waiting for them at the entrance to the greystone building. Brian greeted Nat. “How’s the detective business? Haven’t seen you since you were working that baby scam.”
“Good to see you, Brian. We’ve . . .” he put an arm around Maggie, “we’ve come a long way since then. I’d like you to meet Henny. She’s known Johanna since she was a baby.”
Brian solemnly shook hands with Henny. “I do hope for your sake this isn’t the girl you know.” He nodded toward the door. “Shall we get it over with?”
The morgue was in the basement, and Maggie felt a cold shiver run through her body as the elevator descended to the lower floor. The place was so white, so cold and so impersonal. A white-coated man, who introduced himself as Dr. Grebe, led them through a door and over to where a sheet-covered mound lay on a metal gurney.
“I know this will be difficult for you,” he said to Henny before pulling the sheet back. “But the body has been immersed in the bog for quite a few days.” He paused so that she could prepare herself. “Just take your time.” He pulled back the white sheet to reveal the face but not the bruising on the neck.
Nat, his arm around Henny’s shoulders, compared the bloated, waxen, ravaged face to the photograph of Johanna he held in his hand and realized it would be very hard for anyone to identify her. But Henny gave a shriek and stumbled backward to bury her face on his shoulder. “Oh, Johanna. It can’t be. Oh, Johanna,” she moaned.
“Then you can positively identify the body?” Sergeant Todd asked, puzzled.
Henny pulled her horrified face away from Nat’s shoulder and pointed. “The earrings. Her mama and papa give them to her last Christmas.”
“Someone will go with you to break the news to her parents,” he answered. “I’m so sorry.”
Nat and Maggie exchanged a look. “Henny,” he said as he disentangled himself from her. “I want you to go outside with Maggie. I’ll only be a few minutes.” He waited until the door had closed behind them before turning to Dr. Grebe. “How did she die?” he asked.
“I won’t know until I’ve done a full autopsy, but I’d say probably strangling.” He replaced the sheet. “I’ll send you a full report,” he said, addressing himself to Sergeant Todd.
“Brian, you’ll let me know?” Nat asked.
“Homicide will take over now,” Todd answered. “Do you want a policewoman to accompany Henny to the girl’s parents’ house?”
“No. Maggie and I will go. We’ll take the early morning ferry.”
• • •
IT WAS A QUIET THREESOME that drove onto the Black Ball ferry the next morning, each of them dreading their meeting with David and Marie Evans, but it was a beautiful September day and the scenery was absolutely spectacular. Gulls swooped over the bow of the ferry as it pushed its way from the Horseshoe Bay terminal, the coast mountains on its right as it rounded Bowen Island on the left. Henny had decided to stay in the warmth of the ship’s lounge, but Maggie didn’t want to miss any part of the trip, and although it wasn’t a happy occasion, she couldn’t help but feel her spirits rise as she and Nat leaned over the ship’s railing and watched a couple of small boats to the north, sails billowing in the wind as they turned into the narrow channel made by Bowen and Keats islands on one side and Gambier Island on the other. As the ferry passed close to Bowen, Maggie could see small boats moored at private jetties and smoke lazily snaking into the air from the chimneys of the houses. More and more people were opting for the quiet life and making the islands their home. The trip to Gibsons Landing took only forty-five minutes, and from there they followed Henny’s directions to the Jones’ home on Marine Drive. It was a small rancher right beside the water. Late-blooming roses climbed over a trellis, and asters and marigolds lined the path. The front door opened as the three of them climbed out of the car and walked toward the house.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” Marie Evans said in a monotone.
“Let’s go inside,” Nat answered.
• • •
IT TOOK A COUPLE of days before George Sawasky returned Nat’s repeated calls. “Sorry I’ve been slow in getting back to you,” he said. “What do you want that’s so urgent?”
“I want to know how Johanna Evans died,” Nat answered.
“Like Grebe thought—strangled.”
“What with?”
�
��There was a silk stocking around her neck, but . . .”
“But what, George?”
“The bruises under the stocking were more consistent with someone choking her.”
“But why put the stocking around her neck?”
“Haven’t figured that out yet.” George was quiet for a moment. “The fact is that apart from the stocking around her neck, she was pretty well naked.”
“Was she raped?”
“Come off it, Nat. Farthing would have my balls if he knew that I was passing all this information on to you.”
“Well, you’ve stuck your neck out about the silk stocking, so you might as well tell me the rest.”
“Okay, it looks like she was raped, but remember, she’d been in the bog for as much as a couple of weeks. But there’s something else . . . and you’ll really have to keep this under your hat . . . she was pregnant. And, before you ask, we’ve already had the boyfriend in for questioning and we don’t think he’s the father.”
“I guess you’ve brought the girl’s parents up-to-date?”
“Not about her being pregnant. We’re keeping that strictly to ourselves for now.”
“They tell you that their daughter had two jobs?”
“Yeh. The mother said she had an extra job as a waitress.”
“In Pandora’s?”
“What! We took it that she worked in one of the restaurants downtown. How’d you find that out about Pandora’s? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“We only found out last week,” Nat explained, “and I have been trying to get in touch with you for days.”
“You could’ve called Farthing, you know.” They both laughed.
The call from Farthing came just as Maggie was locking up for the night, and he made it quite clear that their presence was required in his office at ten o’clock the next morning.
• • •
OLD MEMORIES CAME rushing back to Nat as they approached the police station the next morning. After all, it had been his workplace for all those years before he took early retirement to open his own business. But what he dreaded most of all was facing Detective Farthing—the man who had taken over his job and his office. A young constable showed them into the detective’s office, and while they waited, Nat’s eyes scanned the room, noting, as on a previous visit, the athletic certificates, photographs and trophies.
“It’s hard to believe this used to be your office,” Maggie whispered. “It’s so neat and tidy—and look at all those athletic awards!”
Nat grinned. “It was much cosier when I had it. Here comes the big white chief.”
“Sit down,” Farthing demanded when he entered the room. “I hear that you’ve been meddling again.”
“Hardly,” Nat answered. “A client asked us to locate a young girl. It wasn’t our fault she turned up dead.”
“I hear you went over to her apartment. Did you remove anything?”
“What do you take me for?” Nat could feel his temper rising.
“You must’ve found something in her apartment that told you she was working in that disgusting strip place.” Farthing’s prudish views always surprised Nat.
“We did what your officers should have done,” Nat replied, not hiding the contempt in his voice. “We interviewed her neighbours.”
Farthing’s face flushed as he reached for the intercom.
“Constable Snow,” he barked. “I need you in here with your notepad. Unless you two want to go to an interview room?” he said, turning to Nat and Maggie.
Maggie quietly put out her hand and touched Nat’s knee before he could give an angry retort. “Here will be fine,” she answered.
“Start right at the beginning, and Snow here will take it all down. We’ll get you to sign the statement before you leave. Number one, who did you speak to in the girl’s apartment house?”
• • •
“THAT WAS ONE nasty session,” Maggie exclaimed as she climbed into Nat’s car. “But,” she added with a grin, “you actually managed to keep your temper.”
“That son of a bitch always gets under my skin,” he replied, starting the engine. “I do try, Maggie, honest I do.” He paused while he checked the oncoming traffic, then turned the car into it. “But now that we know Johanna was murdered, we had no choice but to tell him everything.”
“Well, it’s out of our hands now,” Maggie said sadly. “Let’s just hope Farthing finds out who her killer was.”
CHAPTER FIVE
It was the last day of September and a couple of weeks since Johanna’s body had been found. Henny was beginning to seem like her old self. She was refilling the coffee pot when Nat came out of his office and stood in front of Maggie’s desk.
“Where have I heard the name Silver Springs Nursing Home before?”
“Silver Springs? That’s the place my mother-in-law convalesced after her bunion operation, remember?”
“Ja,” Henny interrupted. “It is in Richmond. Near where Johanna works.” She stopped abruptly. “Poor little Johanna.”
“That’s it.” He turned, trying not to notice Henny’s tears. “That last phone call Henny put through was from a guy named Edwin Slater. He says his mother left a considerable amount of money to this Silver Springs place and he wants us to look into it.”
“Oh, that kind of thing happens all the time,” Maggie said.
“Even my Aunt Jessie left some money to the nursing home she was in.”
“But this was a considerable sum, and he’s sure there’s something fishy going on there.” He peered at the hissing percolator.
“That coffee smells wonderful, Henny.”
“I get your special cup,” she answered, mopping her eyes. “It needed lots of washing.”
“From what Midge has told me,” Maggie said, “the patients are very well looked after and there is a long waiting list to get in. Your Mr. Slater could always contest the will.”
“That’s what I told him,” Nat said, “but he still wants us to look into the place.”
“We can’t just walk in and ask if they’re bilking their patients,” Maggie said, laughing.
“No, but he wants us to see if other ex-patients have left large amounts to them. We’ll need to know who’s on the board of directors. Can you do that, Maggie?”
“I’ll call and ask them to send me one of their brochures.” She pulled the telephone book toward her. “Silver Springs,” she murmured, running her fingers down the Ss. “Ah. Here it is.”
“Silver Springs Nursing Home,” a prim voice answered after Maggie had dialed the number. “May I help you?”
“I’m very interested in placing my elderly mother in your residence,” Maggie said. “I understand you do have long-term care?”
“Yes, madam, but I’m afraid there’s quite a long waiting list.”
“So I understand,” Maggie replied. “But my mother is in the process of selling her home in Shaughnessy and needs expert care.”
Maggie could practically hear the wheels turning when the receptionist heard the prestigious address. She added, “The house and estate are far too large for her to cope with in her present state of health.”
“The brochure will be sent immediately, madam,” the crisp voice answered. “We sometimes have a cancellation.”
“Mother will need to know who the board of directors are, of course.”
“I will include the list with our brochure. And where shall I send it?” Maggie gave her own home address.
It was late in the afternoon when George called. “I think I’ve found that place you were looking for,” he said when Maggie picked up the phone. “It’s called The Path to the Golden Light, and it’s not a dog kennel. It’s a farm run by a Brother Francois and his followers.”
“No dogs?”
“No dogs! Just the usual chickens and goats.”
“What do you mean—his followers?”
“Apparently it’s some kind of sect. They’re springing up all over the place.”
; “Both Sandra and Johanna’s boyfriend said she was going to see some kennels. Must be some other place. But thanks, anyway,”
Maggie said, then asked, “Do you know how the investigation’s going on with Johanna’s death?”
“We’ve interviewed lots of people, but so far no leads,” he answered. “You still looking into it?”
“We haven’t heard anything more from the Evans’ so I guess they’re leaving that end of it up to you guys.”
“That’s what we’re here for. Give your boss my best.”
Maggie was just putting on her coat when the phone jangled again. “Blast!” She wavered. “I suppose I’d better see who it is.” To her surprise it was Marie Evans.
“We would like to make an appointment to see Mr. Southby as soon as possible,” she said. “David and I are not happy with the slowness of police.”
“But it’s only been a couple of weeks.”
“Yes. But already five weeks since Johanna was murdered.
When can we come?”
“I know that you have to catch a ferry,” Maggie answered.
“Would this Friday, October 2, be okay?”
“That would be good.”
• • •
THEY ARIVED BREATHLESS from walking up the stairs—the elevator was out of order again—and Maggie gave them a few minutes to recover before gathering up her notepad and pencils and ushering them into Nat’s office. As was his habit, he took his time, slowly pulling a yellow pad toward him and picking up his fountain pen, which he gently rolled between his fingers before addressing the couple. “Are you really sure that you want us to continue the investigation?”
“Yes,” David Evans answered in his soft Welsh accent, looking toward his wife. “We have heard nothing from the police.”
“Yes,” Marie added. To Maggie, she seemed even thinner than the last time they had met. “We need answers, Mr. Southby, and Henny said you would get them for us.”
“And the trail is getting freezing,” Henny said from where she stood in the open doorway.
Death on a Short Leash Page 5