Murder Keeps No Calendar

by Cathy Ace

  I was puzzled. ‘So, Pete the Bum somehow acquired a bottle of bourbon—’

  ‘American bourbon,’ interrupted Bud.

  ‘American bourbon –’ I nodded at Bud – ‘and he swaps it with a barman for a pair of sweatpants. Presumably Pete saw the sweatpants as being more useful than a bottle of booze, which is interesting. The barman then sells the American bourbon to a local youth who drinks it, and dies of an overdose of rat poison. Correct?’

  ‘Correct,’ replied Bud.

  ‘So I’d say it’s safe to assume the eventual victim was not the original target, and that the barman and the clientele of the hotel were not the targets. That is, if Pete the Bum didn’t put the warfarin into the bottle.’

  ‘He didn’t,’ confirmed Bud.

  ‘And we know that because?’ I asked.

  ‘Because he wouldn’t have had access to the form of warfarin found in the boy’s system.’ Bud looked as happy as his canine companion; Marty now had his own bowl of water to drink from, and was chewing his third of the treats supplied by our server.

  ‘And what’s so special about this warfarin?’ I asked. Lottie and Jeremy looked eager to hear the answer too.

  ‘It’s American warfarin,’ replied Bud, smiling and patting Marty’s head.

  I took a big slug of coffee, wishing it were something stronger, and went for it. ‘So there’s a special type of warfarin that you can only get in the USA?’ Bud nodded. ‘And that warfarin is used for what exactly?’

  ‘Same as here, rat poison; but the US FDA has some rules about colorings they say have to be in the poison, and that’s where it differs from our own Canadian stuff – the color-chemicals are different, so that’s how we know it was American. Of course, you couldn’t see the bourbon was a funny color through the brown glass of the bottle, so all the colorings in the world wouldn’t have put someone off drinking it.’

  ‘So the warfarin was American, like the bourbon?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes, like the bourbon,’ replied Bud.

  Lottie and Jeremy looked as though they were watching a tennis match as their heads turned to look at me and Bud in turn; goodness knows what anyone seeing our odd little group would have imagined was going on.

  ‘But look, Bud, this isn’t really fair; you know I consider victims and how they might be connected to the person who killed them. This boy was several people removed from whomever it was put the American poison into the American bourbon. How can I tell you anything about this case?’ I was starting to run out of patience.

  ‘But you are, Cait; you’re following a path that your training sets ahead of you – whether it’s about the victim who died, or maybe about the intended victim – you’re on that path, just keep going.’ Bud seemed genuine enough, and I could see the desire for closure in Lottie and Jeremy’s eyes.

  I gave in. ‘Right. So the question is, who was the intended victim of the American poison in the American bourbon, and why is the fact both those items are from south of the border important?’ I gave it a moment’s thought. ‘There are lots of cabins around this lake, right?’ Bud nodded. ‘Some of them must be owned by Americans, and more Americans must come here to board at the various B&Bs and hotels in the area, right?’

  Bud nodded again. He turned to our rapt audience and said, ‘We’re about an hour from the border here, so Harrison is a popular spot with the Americans.’

  I continued, ‘I would suggest the bourbon and the poison were brought from the States, separately, and weren’t intended to be used to kill. Initially. Have any Americans died unexpectedly in the last few months around here? In other words, did someone screw up in this instance and have another, more successful attempt, at their intended target’s murder?’ I hoped this was a good line of reasoning.

  ‘No dead Americans, I’m afraid,’ replied Bud. Realizing what he’d said, he added quickly, ‘You know what I mean,’ with a shrug.

  ‘Any suspicious deaths at all?’ I was reaching.

  ‘Nope.’

  Dead end. ‘So did Pete the Bum tell you where he got the bottle?’

  ‘He says he found it.’ Bud raised an eyebrow, and I did likewise.

  ‘So do we know where he stole it from?’ I asked. I was beginning to feel the need for another couple of aspirin and hoped I wasn’t sounding as exasperated as I was feeling.

  ‘He wasn’t saying. In a pointed way. And if you think anyone around here is going to report the theft of a bottle of booze – be it laced with poison or not – then . . .’ Bud didn’t have to finish.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ I admitted defeat on that one. I tried a new tack. ‘Have there been any odd happenings around here at all, maybe in the month or so before the boy’s death?’

  ‘Some cabin fires. The local volunteer fire department had to run out a few times to douse small fires before they got to the trees. It can become a tinderbox around here.’ He nodded at the expansive forests, and Lottie and Jeremy seemed to understand.

  ‘One cabin more than once, or more than one cabin affected?’ I asked.

  ‘A few different ones, but one particular cabin was hit twice,’ Bud replied.

  ‘And was that cabin owned by an American?’ I was seeing that path again.

  ‘Ironically, the cabin is owned by a group of retired firefighters from Bellingham, just over the border. Being old pros they pooh-poohed the idea of having fire extinguishers and such like out there; thought they could manage just fine if there was an emergency. Idiots. It wasn’t until after the second fire that they smartened up their act and got some firefighting equipment supplies on the property. They only ever use the cabin for the odd fishing trip, May through September, usually. They stay south the rest of the year.’

  ‘Firefighters, eh?’ I could see some light. ‘They might not take too kindly to someone setting fire to their cabin, and would certainly not be happy about the locals having to help them out,’ I added carefully. ‘Have they been around much since the car accident?’

  ‘Now there’s another irony – or maybe a coincidence . . . though I generally don’t care for them; they were first on the scene of the car accident. The dead boy’s vehicle crashed into a tree not far from their cabin; they heard the noise, saw the flames, and put out the fire before anyone from around here could get to it, with the equipment they had by then. They called it in, and the locals came a-running to take care of any hot spots.’

  ‘Since then?’

  ‘They were around through June and into July, but haven’t been seen at all since the boy’s true cause of death was eventually made public.’

  ‘Wow,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ replied Bud.

  ‘So how’s Pete these days?’ I asked.

  ‘Fine; they’ve found him a place at a residential home in Chilliwack,’ replied Bud.

  ‘And he has no idea?’ I asked.

  ‘Nope,’ replied Bud.

  ‘No one pointed out the error of his ways to him?’ I couldn’t believe it.

  ‘I don’t think there’s much point – I mean, everyone keeps saying he’s harmless, but he’s not well-connected to reality.’

  ‘He’s lucky he’s connected to it at all; he should be dead,’ I concluded.

  Bud nodded sagely, then raised his coffee mug. We both chinked and said cheers as though beer were involved.

  We sat in silence for a moment, sipping.

  Eventually, Lottie could contain herself no longer. ‘Jeremy – do you know what they’re talking about? Why have they stopped? What’s the end?’ She looked at her companion, her eyes searching his face for an answer.

  Jeremy looked at Bud and myself with a stare so blank we might as well have been conversing in Greek – if Jeremy didn’t understand Greek, that is.

  ‘I’m sorry, Lottie darling, I have absolutely no idea what just happened. I say, Bud –’ Jeremy’s clipped tones made me smile inwardly – ‘what’s it all about? I don’t get it.’ Bertie Wooster couldn’t have soun
ded more confused.

  ‘Would you like to explain, Cait?’ Bud was being gracious.

  Two pairs of stupefied eyes turned toward me, and I took center stage. ‘It’s pretty obvious, really,’ I said, annoyingly for Lottie and Jeremy, no doubt, because it clearly wasn’t obvious to either of them.

  Lottie tried to stare me down. I didn’t flinch, instead I said, ‘Pete the Bum likely holes up in some cabin or other shelter around here whenever he feels like it; he probably doesn’t do much damage, but he thinks of every cabin as a potential home for himself. If the American firefighters aren’t here often, chances are he’d settle himself in and be a bit miffed when they do show up. If Pete is – as Bud puts it – not well-connected to reality, he’s going to feel slighted that he’s been moved out of “his” home, and he might retaliate. Fire-starting is known to be relatively frequently connected to those who are homeless; it might be accidental, and the result of them trying to keep themselves warm in cold weather, but – psychologically – some of those who are homeless see property damage as the best way to hurt those who have what they don’t. Please don’t think I’m saying arson is widespread among those who have no home, however, the sad truth is many of those who live on the streets suffer from mental health issues, as well as facing the challenge of addiction. I wouldn’t be at all surprised to find that Pete had started a couple of fires at the firefighters’ cabin; since the fires happened when the owners were in residence, the chances are they weren’t accidentally caused by Pete, but intentionally. I would further suggest the cabin owners suspected Pete, or maybe they even spotted him doing something related to the fires, and they decided to get their own back on him.’ I paused, Lottie and her equally dim-witted companion were still transfixed.

  ‘And this is where it gets nasty,’ I continued. ‘It sounds to me as though the American firefighters set out a bait bottle of booze for Pete, with something in it they believed would make him sick. For some unfathomable reason they chose to lace it with warfarin; an extremely dangerous course of action. If there was enough in the booze to kill the kid who drank it – and I can’t imagine he drank a great deal from the bottle, being that young – there’d certainly have been enough in it to kill Pete. So I believe Pete was the intended victim; it’s interesting that anyone pouring the bourbon from the bottle into a glass would have seen the discoloration, but someone drinking from the bottle wouldn’t, because of the disguising quality of the bottle’s colored glass. I believe the firefighters meant Pete harm, and believed he wouldn’t spot the fact the bourbon was tainted; it seems they actually thought it through. Which is chilling. If I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt, I’d say maybe they brought the rat poison with them from the US for controlling vermin at the cabin, and possibly, after a few beers and riling each other up, it seemed like a good idea to do what they did. They must have put the tainted bottle somewhere Pete could see it, and steal it. And once it was gone, even if they’d thought better of their actions in the sober light of day, it would have been too late to do anything about it. Luckily for Pete he wanted a pair of sweatpants more than he wanted the bourbon, so he swapped it, never knowing it was poisoned. The barman probably did the swap as much out of pity for Pete as having an eye for a bottle he could sell on for more than the value of a pair of old sweatpants he was possibly glad to get rid of. He sold it on to the kid he knew, who drank it and died of warfarin poisoning. With a dead body at the wheel, the boy’s car ran into a tree, and the retired American firefighters are close by; they leap into action, not knowing of the connection to the bottle they laced. When the boy’s real cause of death is finally reported, they make the connection, and they never come back. I’m guessing the cabin’s for sale?’

  Bud nodded.

  ‘Any of the suspects talking?’ I asked, doubting it.

  ‘Our colleagues south of the border are fully aware of our suspicions and are carrying on a gentle form of harassment. They think one of the retired firefighters might crack someday, but you never know with these things; the ties that bind these guys from their working days are strong, and it might be that none of them ever spill the beans.’

  ‘But how did you know, Cait?’ wailed Lottie, exasperated.

  ‘Because she’s a clever, insightful woman,’ replied Bud on my behalf. Then, rather surprisingly, he continued, ‘You know, Lottie, some people find themselves in situations where they can sink or swim; Cait has faced that choice – and she swam. She’s here carving out a new life for herself, and she’s using her brains and her understanding of human nature to help not only herself but others too.’ Bud flashed a smile at me, then looked gravely at Lottie as he added, ‘Earlier you asked if the police were still keeping an eye on Cait; I’m guessing you were alluding to the death of Cait’s ex-boyfriend Angus in Cambridge.’ Lottie blushed pink to the roots of her hair, and Jeremy’s eyes began to slide toward the exit.

  Bud continued, ‘Maybe you thought I wouldn’t know about that; maybe your sly comment was aimed at showing me you knew something about Cait I didn’t. Whatever your reason, what I can tell you is that Professor Cait Morgan was investigated and cleared in the UK, before she left. And, to be absolutely clear, there’s no way she’d have gotten the security clearances she needed to be able to work with my team if there was even a hint of complicity in any crime in her past. I’ve given you the chance to see Cait at work, maybe you’d now like to get on with your vacation and leave us to enjoy the beauty that surrounds us.’

  There was no doubt Bud had read the situation from the first seconds of our meeting; and he’d chosen to act like a knight in shining armor.

  Lottie pushed herself out of her seat, still flushed in the face. ‘I think you’re very rude, mister policeman, and I think you and Cait are well-suited; I’d always heard she was too sharp for her own good, and she’s obviously found a kindred spirit in you. We won’t stay where we’re not wanted, will we, Jer?’ Jeremy was quick to leap to his feet and nod in agreement. ‘We’re off. Goodbye.’ Lottie marched toward the stairs leading to the street below. Marty sent them on their way with one deep growl.

  After she’d gone I took a moment deciding what to say. ‘That was a bit mean, Bud, don’t you think?’ I ventured.

  ‘Mean is what she was, and spiteful. I’ve met her type before. You don’t deserve that, Cait. I hope you don’t mind me speaking frankly’ – I shrugged – ‘so I’ll just say, in you I’ve found a person who has all the attributes I wish I could find in each of my officers, but it’s all coated with a hard shell. Of course I know about Angus and Cambridge; I had to get you checked out and cleared before I could invite you to work with my team. I know what happened; I scanned the police records of the case. Had to. So I know the facts. What I can only imagine, however, is how it must have affected you; it must have been a horror show. And I don’t just mean the relationship with Angus himself – though your statement, his record, and the police investigation painted a picture of a brute. That must have been awful for you, yes, but what I mean is these newspapers need some more rules and regulations to control how they can track people down, and make their lives a misery. I’m not being patronizing when I say I think you’ve done a great job since you got to Canada; you got your promotion to full professor, and you really are using all your considerable skills to make life better for others. But you know what, Cait?’ I dreaded what might come next. ‘You need to start living a life, not just having a career. It’s true a healthy dose of cynicism is handy in our line of work, and I’m only too well aware that investigating the worst in life can make a person more than somewhat untrusting. But you need to learn to trust some people, good people, and allow them inside the walls you’ve built around yourself. It’s quite clear from the little I know about you that you have no real friends. Why not mix a bit more? Join Jan and me – and all her yomping friends – for lunch today? I know you’ve met her before, but a stuffy rubber-chicken banquet doesn’t let you really get to know a person; I think y
ou two would get on.’

  I hesitated before I replied; I’d built a pretty good working relationship with Bud, and I didn’t know how to tell him his lovely – but hobby-crazy – wife, Jan, just wasn’t the sort of person I felt I could warm too; honestly, she was so well-organized she frightened me a bit. ‘Thanks, Bud, for everything. Maybe not lunch today, but I’ll happily join a slightly smaller group if you and Jan are entertaining sometime. I just don’t do well with large, organized groups. And that’s nothing to do with the legacy left by my relationship with Angus, it’s just never been me. Not likely to become me, either. But I don’t see any harm in you, me, and Jan spending some social time together – so long as that’s not crossing any lines because you hire me as a consultant; I don’t want to jeopardize my chances to work with your team. I’m finally getting to put my theories into practice, on real cases, and maybe to even do some real good. That’s what I care about most; the chance to help seek out justice for victims of crime. But, if we can all have a coffee or two without that coming to an end, that would be lovely. Thanks.’

  Bud stood and smiled down at me. ‘Good answer.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Jan and her gang will be back before too long, and this one –’ he nodded down at Marty, who was already on his feet and wagging his tail – ‘needs to attend to his business before I meet them. But, before I go, I have some news; just for your ears. The local cops in Kelowna found the boyfriend of the girl from Maple Ridge. And thanks to you pointing us in that direction they managed to save the father; he was hanging on by a thread – a few more hours and he might have died. In fact, the boyfriend thought he already was when he left him in the trunk of the car he’d stolen. So today you saved a life, Cait; that girl will see her father again, thanks to you. Who knows, she might even come to her senses and drop the violent thug she was going out with. I don’t need to tell you how that can release a person to live a new life, do I?’