Law and Disorder

by Mary Jane Maffini

  Minutes later, I had been accompanied through the doors into the bowels of the building and up to Major Crimes, currently lurking on the second floor. I figured there must have been some kind of budget cutbacks coming, because everyone had a sombre expression. Constable Kristen Wentzell lumbered by still in her vest, her startling blue eyes tinged by red. What was that about? Late nights in the bar scene? Had P. J. managed to lure her into a date? At his desk, Mombourquette stared at me without smiling. He crossed his arms in front of him.

  “Cat got your tongue?” I said.

  “Not in the mood today, MacPhee. What do you want?”

  “Touchy touchy. I want to talk to you about what is going on. I need you to take these jokes seriously.”

  “I have two minutes.”

  “Fine, I’ve got plenty to do myself. I know it sounds hokey, but there’s something really horrible going on. It’s not just my imagination. I told you before, I’m getting these jokes, lawyer jokes, and they seem to be tied to people getting killed.”

  “Don’t fucking waste my time.”

  “Please, language, Leonard. Inappropriate in a man your age.”

  Mombourquette got up and slammed his filing cabinet drawer shut. My mouth hung open. He can be peevish, even belligerent, but this was a different side of him. What was going on? Pressure of retirement? Whatever. I decided to ignore the drawer slamming and continue. “The problem arises from the fact that the next day a piece of paper arrives with the name of a person. I’m not sure I made that fully clear before.”

  “You’re not making it fully clear now.”

  “All right. I guess it is pretty bizarre. The thing is that the person whose name is on the paper has just died, by accident in two cases and obviously murder in the third. As far as I can tell, this paper arrives before anyone knows about the death. It seems to be announcing it, I believe, although I don’t know why it would be announced to me.” I didn’t mention Bunny.

  “Did you get a joke today?”

  “Yesterday. It’s here in this plastic bag. Unfortunately, Gussie chewed up the joke as well as both envelopes, so there’s probably not much to be learned from—”

  He scowled and interrupted. “And did you get a piece of paper today?”

  I handed the bag to him. “Maybe you shouldn’t open it. Maybe there’s some—”

  “Don’t piss me off,” he said.

  “Don’t want to do that,” I said, “and I don’t know this person.”

  “And what person is that?”

  “Someone named Steve Anstruther.”

  That’s when all hell broke loose.

  “Do you really believe that if I didn’t know who Steve Anstruther was when I came in here, somehow I’d find out because you’re yelling at me?”

  I was still repeating that line of thought an hour later, only this time in an interrogation room. The detective who had been questioning me had decided to depart. Mombourquette remained, pacing. For the first time ever, he made me nervous.

  “I didn’t see the joke arrive. I doubt if Alvin saw it arrive either, but you can ask him. I don’t know anything. I haven’t been able to figure out what’s going on. What the hell is the matter with you, Leonard? You can’t possibly think I have anything to do with any of this.”

  His nose twitched. “What is the matter with me? What is the matter with you? You waltz in here with the name of a cop on a piece of paper the same day that cop ends up in intensive care fighting for his life, and you don’t think anyone here’s going to be upset?”

  I was still feeling the knot in my stomach from learning that Steve Anstruther was a police colleague, and I was guessing a popular one.

  “Of course you’re angry, but why are you turning it on me? I didn’t put your friend in the ICU. I’m being used to send a message, I guess.”

  “What kind of message?”

  “Hard to tell.”

  “Who’s sending this message?”

  “I don’t know that either. How many other ways can I make that point?”

  Mombourquette’s chin whiskers quivered. “Why don’t you try making some kind of a point that might be useful to me?”

  “Okay. Here’s one. I have rights, and if you are going to keep me here and treat me like a suspect rather than a citizen who is doing her best to help, then I’m going to have legal representation.”

  “Oh, sure. Get lawyered up.”

  “That’s the idea.”

  “Why’s that? Feeling guilty?”

  “You can shelve that old technique. That won’t wash with me, Leonard. I’ve seen too many people get into trouble because they fell for it. I’ll make my phone call now.”

  “Innocent people don’t have to worry, MacPhee.”

  “Give me a break. Tell that line to Marshall. Or Milgaard. Or Guy-Paul Morin.”

  Mombourquette snorted.

  I said, “Or any of the people who found themselves behind bars because of Dr. Charles Smith. I repeat, if you are going to hold me for questioning, I want a lawyer.”

  “That could work against you.”

  “Be that as it may. I came to you, Leonard, with this piece of information. It’s not the first time that I tried to get you to pay attention to the jokes. You know that. You just laughed before.”

  “I’m not laughing now.”

  “And I was never laughing. I’m not responsible for whatever’s going on either. I didn’t know anything about Steve Anstruther. I certainly didn’t know he was a cop until you and your colleagues wigged out.”

  “Someone’s responsible. And they seem to have some connection with you.”

  “I’m pretty sure you’re right about that, although I hate to admit it. Why else would I be getting this stuff?”

  “You sure you never heard of Steve?”

  “Well, I don’t think so. It’s a fairly uncommon name. I didn’t recognize it. If I’d known why everyone was so upset, do you really think I would have broken it to you that way?”

  He turned away and shrugged.

  I said, “What happened to him anyway?”

  “I ask the questions.”

  “What do you think this is? A prime time cop drama?”

  Mombourquette scowled.

  I said, “Attempted suicide?”

  “No! Where did that come from?”

  “Just guessing because you won’t answer me.”

  “Yeah, well, you’re sitting in an interrogation room. Do you think I’m going to give you information?” Mombourquette headed for the door. I hoped he was planning to give me back my cellphone.

  “Fine. I’ll wait and get it on the news. I don’t understand why I received a lawyer joke and then the guy turns out to be a cop. It doesn’t makes sense to me. The other two were lawyers or in Judge Cardarelle’s case a former lawyer.”

  Mombourquette paused, his hand on the door. He turned and stared at me. “He’s been accepted to law school. U of O. He was supposed to start this fall. Just got married too.”

  “Do they think he’ll make it?”

  “They don’t know. He’s in a coma. And if he does, who’s to say he’ll be all there.”

  “I’m sorry about your friend, Leonard. I want you to know that. But what happened to him?”

  Mombourquette finally relented. “He was heading home to the east end last night. His car went off the road at the foot of the cliff on the eastern parkway around midnight last night, and he ended up in the river.”

  “And it looked like another accident.”

  He nodded. “They’re checking out the car now. Looks like he might have fallen asleep, although he was a real careful guy.”

  I said, “You know, except for Rollie, someone has gone to a lot of trouble to stage these so-called accidents.”

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “If another car hit him or forced him off the road, there will be paint traces on his vehicle. We won’t miss those if they’re there.”

  I said, “Did you notice that with Rollie, the whole thi
ng seemed to be set up for obvious drama? But this is dramatic too.”

  Mombourquette nodded slowly.

  I said, “But they’re sending the jokes and names to me to ensure that I realize that even the ones that look like accidents are not. And if they know anything about me, they’ll be aware I’ll try to find out what’s going on and even talk to you. So I just don’t get it. It’s like a taunt.”

  “Take it again from the top,” Mombourquette said. “There has to be something.”

  I ran through everything I knew once more with feeling, including my short-lived suspicions about Annalisa Fillmore. I admitted that I hadn’t felt any great grief about Rollie or sadness about Judge Cardarelle. The world might be fine without them, but Roxanne Terrio seemed a sad story to me and now, so now did Steve Anstruther. I said as much to Mombourquette.

  Whether or not it was a wise decision, I still left out the part about Bunny Mayhew.

  “Did this Anstruther guy have any connection to Brugel?” I said as we finished up.

  Mombourquette’s eyes told me that he did. He kept his mouth firmly closed though.

  I said, “I know Brugel’s behind it. I could see him thinking this joke thing was funny. He’s quite capable of directing this vicious farce from the Regional Detention Centre. You know it too. The thing is to find out how Anstruther fits in.”

  I was relieved to get away from Police Headquarters. It was still nippy, but the June sunshine seemed reassuringly bright and the threatening clouds had scurried off. I pulled out my cellphone and called Mrs. Parnell first. She was more than willing to pursue the latest line of investigation I requested. A photo of a Constable Steve Anstruther would be very handy for me indeed.

  “This small task will be the best medicine possible, Ms MacPhee,” she said. “A person could die of boredom lying around waiting for short-lived social opportunities. I have found a few more items for you that might help.”

  “Great. I’ll swing by later.”

  P. J. Lynch didn’t answer his phone, but I left a message suggesting it would be worth his while to give me a call at the first possible opportunity.

  What I needed was a wonderful endless soak in the tub to get the interrogation room germs off my body while I had a long soothing chat with Ray, a chat that didn’t include anything remotely connected with lawyer jokes, suspicious accidents, ratty detectives or Lloyd Brugel. Our chats always took place later in the evening and anyway, Alvin had other plans. What Alvin wants, Alvin gets. And Alvin wanted to see the girls practicing. “I’m not really in the mood for this, Alvin. I’ve been interrogated by the police today.”

  Then you need something to take your mind off that.”

  I thought about it. Of course, Ray would want to talk about his girls, so the conversation would go better if I got 134 “ this chore out of the way. As we insinuated the car into the traffic and proceeded to the nicely scenic Colonel By Drive, I ignored the driver who gave me the finger. I was thinking about Ray. I wished I could bond with these girls of his. What the hell was wrong with me? Sure, they’d gone out of their way to sabotage our relationship and caused several calamities in the process, but was that the only problem? They’d been teenagers, still missing their mother and anxious not to lose their father to a stranger. I could relate to that. I’d been a particularly obnoxious teenager myself. Maybe it was because we had nothing in common but Ray. On the other hand, maybe that would have to be enough.

  Alvin was chattering, and I was attempting to tune him out. “Did you know that the dragon boat tradition is more than two thousand years old?” he said.

  “It kind of snuck up on me,” I answered, hoping to stem a stream of factoids.

  “Blah blah…as a fertility rite to avert misfortune and bring rain by worshipping the dragon.”

  I smothered a yawn. He prattled away about teams from across the country, funds raised and how the races were conducted. I tried not to fall asleep at the wheel as we drove out to Mooney’s Bay and the Rideau Canoe Club.

  “At least pretend to be interested,” Alvin said as we approached the parking lot.

  “Don’t push your luck,” I said as we got out of the car. A gentle wind ruffled my hair. Things were warming up again. The night was perfect, the water was luminous. I found myself glad to be there. Not a soak in the tub, but good all the same. We ambled down and were able to get a glimpse of the team practicing.

  The team was fast and furious. I was astounded. I didn’t realize that they sat on the boats that way, practically kneeling. The whole thing looked like a lot of work to me.

  I said, “I guess it’s like a sport.”

  Alvin sniffed. “It is a sport. Ashley might even be good enough to make the Olympic team. That’s what they’re hoping.”

  “There’s Olympic dragon boat racing? Are you kidding me?”

  “She’s into rowing. She’s on the university team. She’s got a sports scholarship and Brittany has a shot at one too.”

  “Really?”

  “I can’t believe Ray didn’t mention it.”

  Of course, Ray would have mentioned that. It was more likely that my brain had done a big LALALA when he did. My good angel mentioned to my bad angel that it was high time I started to pay more attention. Ray loved the girls, and I loved Ray, and I’d just have to get used to it. In the meantime, until I found a way to like them, there was no choice but to fake it.

  Alvin yelled encouragement to the team. I wasn’t sure they wanted anything to take their mind off whatever they were trying to achieve. But I echoed his yell and waved. Part of the new me. I was pretty sure Ashley waved back. Or maybe it was Brittany. Alvin had arranged to hang out with the team afterwards. He said they’d find their way home. That left me free to meddle.

  P. J. returned my call, and I took advantage of the timing to arrange a meeting. I suggested The Works in the Glebe at eight, but P. J. claimed to have pressing business at that time.

  “I can squeeze you in now,” he said.

  “It’s my exercise time, so if you want to join me on a stroll, that’ll be all right.”

  “A stroll? You mean like a walk?”

  “Much like a walk, in fact. It’s a beautiful night. Cool. The humidity’s cleared.” There was a pause on the line. I added, “And today I didn’t get in my full walking quota.”

  “So,” he said. “What is it you want?”

  “I’ll tell you when we’re on the move. I’ll meet you on the canal near the new bridge from the university. I think there’s a bench you can lounge on if it takes me a while to get there. I’m heading out now.”

  P. J. is more of a restaurant booth and car kind of guy, but he was waiting on a bench as I puffed up from the Glebe on the Queen Elizabeth side of the canal.

  We settled on crossing on the new Corktown bridge over the canal and headed down the Colonel By side bike path to Pretoria Bridge, then back to P. J.’s bench headquarters. A good walk from my point of view, made better by the scent of fresh cut grass. What’s more, even if he wanted to quit on me, he’d have no choice but to keep going.

  “Keep an eye out for speeding cyclists and rollerbladers,” I said. “Whatever you do, don’t drift from your path without warning.”

  “Can you slow down a bit?” he puffed.

  “Time for you to get in shape, my lad.”

  “I think you wanted something from me. No killing the goose that laid the golden egg and all that.”

  I refrained from saying that P. J. had yet to deliver any golden eggs, although one could always hope. Instead, I said, “Another joke came in. And another name.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “May I add, it’s not funny in the least.”

  “Who was it this time? I can think of a few people who are kind of asking for it.”

  “A fairly young officer called Steve Anstruther. A detective constable, I think, but I’m not sure about that.”

  “Steve Anstruther, you said?”

  “Yes. Know anything about him?
Gossip, people on the periphery of a case?”

  P. J. nodded. “He could have been in court or been a court escort or made a minor arrest, anything like that, and it would never be written up. His name does sound familiar. It’s not a typical name.”

  “I’m pretty sure I’ve never heard it, and I followed all the Brugel stuff. We really need to find a Brugel connection.”

  “I’ve got to file a story by ten,” P. J. said. “And didn’t I follow up on Annalisa Fillmore based on your suggestion?

  And that was a wild goose chase, so forgive me if I don’t want to waste a lot more time on any of your hare-brained ideas. No offence, Tiger.”

  “None taken,” I said, trying to get as close to a purr as I could. “It would be tragic if the day-to-day minutiae and this uncalled for bitterness of yours got in the way of breaking a story connecting Brugel and these deaths.”

  “You’re not exactly subtle,” P. J. said.

  “Not trying to be. Keep me posted, and I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  “I’ll give it some thought, but that’s all I can say.”

  “The thing is I have Mrs. Parnell checking for links between Brugel and each of the victims. She’d be just as effective as you would be on the print and digital front, but you’re in a better position to find out who Brugel is connected with in the local sleaze community, who could be hired to cause these deaths. Stuff that would never make it into print.”

  “Thugs, I imagine.”

  “I’m not so sure. The jokes are well-presented, nicely printed out on good quality paper. The names as well. Someone has a sense of style.”

  P. J.’s face puckered in thought. I sure hope he never tries his luck at poker.

  I said, “And they’d have to look respectable or non-threatening. Roxanne Terrio was very conscious of her safety. She wouldn’t let just anyone get close. Somehow this person must not have appeared to be any kind of a threat. Same thing with the judge. He was a cold and snobbish person. And suspicious, I think. So how did he come to eat a nut-laced cookie in a lonely spot?”

  P. J. seemed to be still busy thinking. “Rollie Thorsten wouldn’t notice anything. He made his living from the underbelly of society.”