by A. M. Potter
Naslund couldn’t agree more. In that sense, she was as old-school as the inspector.
“That’s why I went at Larmer so hard,” he said.
“Understood.” On the other hand, there was more than one way to trap a rat. You often had as good a chance of getting a confession if you didn’t belittle a suspect. Next time, given a narcissist like Larmer, it might be better to appeal to his ego. Make him look smart, make him think he was in control.
“I’ll be going at MacLean in the same way.”
Naslund nodded. Of course you will.
“On another note, Gordon Tyler is bothering me, and not only his alibi for July eighth. You remember that mooring-line theft from Tyler’s skiff?”
“Yes.”
“Last night, I reviewed the surveillance footage. The thief was bald and not very athletic. Remove Gordon Tyler’s hairpiece and he’d be bald. And still not athletic.”
She chuckled. “Very true.”
“We need to find out where he was on Wednesday July tenth, between fifteen hundred and nineteen hundred and also confirm his July eighth alibi. According to Lowrie’s notes, he gets up at oh-seven-thirty every day.” Moore glanced at his watch. “We’ll get him in ASAP.”
The inspector called Gordon Tyler. The man didn’t hesitate or play games. He agreed to come in to the station at 0830.
***
After ushering Gordon Tyler into the interview room, Naslund took a post in the shadow room. Thom’s half-brother looked the picture of propriety. He wore a dark brown suit and a muted brown tie. His hairpiece seemed buttoned down, as if permanently glued in place.
“Good morning, Mr. Tyler,” Moore said. “Thank you for coming in.”
“It’s my duty. I always support the police.”
Huh, Naslund thought, a civic paragon.
“First, my condolences,” Moore said with apparent conviction. “It’s difficult to lose a brother.”
“Half-brother,” Tyler said. “But, yes, it is difficult, more for the family than for me.”
“Oh?”
“I wasn’t that close to Thom.”
“I see.”
“I don’t mind telling you that. I have nothing to hide. I know why I’m here. I’ll tell you what I know directly, once and for all.”
“Good.”
“Thom and I weren’t the best of friends. However, I wished him well. I wanted him to succeed. I helped him with money in the past, and I was going to do so again.”
“How so?”
“He asked me to lend him three hundred thousand dollars.”
“Three-hundred thousand?”
“Correct.”
“When was that?”
“Three weeks ago yesterday.”
“Did you?”
Tyler shook his head. “We were close to a satisfactory arrangement, but Thom died. Was murdered, I should say.”
“What makes you say he was murdered?”
Tyler eyed the inspector. “Everyone says he was murdered. Let me be direct again. I don’t know what happened to Thom. As I told your Detective Lowrie twice, I wasn’t part of Thom’s social circle or his daily life. I don’t know anything about his skiff, or his fishing habits, or his painting routine.” Tyler sat back. “I wish I could help you more, but I can’t.”
“I think you can. What kind of arrangement were you discussing?”
“I was going to lend Thom three hundred thousand dollars at fifteen percent. However, we couldn’t agree on the loan collateral. Hence the arrangement didn’t come to fruition.”
“That sounds like a blow to you,” Moore said. “Losing a deal like that.”
“It’s not. I’ll put that capital to use elsewhere.”
“At fifteen percent?”
“Possibly. Possibly not. In either case, I’ll put it to use.”
“Did Thom Tyler owe you any money?”
“No.”
“None? What about his earlier loans?”
“He paid them back.”
“With interest?’
“Yes.”
“So, you disagreed on the collateral for the new loan. What was the disagreement?”
“I asked Thom to sign over his complete list of paintings to me as security for the loan. He offered this year’s list. It wasn’t enough. I know he’s part of the family, but when I loan money, it doesn’t matter to whom, it has to make fiscal sense.”
“And this loan didn’t make sense?”
“To Thom, maybe, but not to me. In the past, Thom took years to pay back his loans. I didn’t want that to occur again. In the event that it did, I needed to secure my money.”
“With his complete list?”
“Yes.”
“Sounds excessive.”
“Perhaps. But it was a strong incentive for Thom to repay me, the kind he needed.”
“I’ll take your word for it. Where were you on the night of Sunday, July seventh, after eight p.m.?”
“At home, watching a baseball game on TV.”
“Who was playing?”
“The Blue Jays and the Yankees.”
Naslund knew Gordon Tyler’s alibi had been checked twice--he’d said he was home with his sister Gillian, who was his live-in housekeeper--but Naslund liked the inspector’s angle. One more prod might trip the wire. Lies often took time to surface.
“Where were they playing?” Moore asked.
“Toronto.”
“Did you watch the whole game?”
“Yes.”
“What Blue Jay stole third?”
“You mean which two Blue Jays. Josh Donaldson and Kevin Pillar.”
“What was the final score?”
“The Blue Jays won, six-to-three.”
All correct, Naslund knew. And no hesitation.
“Was anyone there with you?” Moore asked.
“My sister Gillian.”
“Thom Tyler’s half-sister?”
Gordon Tyler nodded.
“What time did you get up the next morning?”
“At seven-thirty.”
As usual, Naslund thought. According to Gillian, correct as well.
“Where were you last Wednesday afternoon, July tenth, between three and seven p.m.?”
“I was at my office until five-thirty. Then I went home to eat supper.”
“What time did you get home?”
“About ten minutes later. Gillian can verify that. I walked. I live five blocks away.”
Naslund nodded to herself. Tyler didn’t seem aggravated by the new line of questioning.
“What time did you eat?” Moore asked.
“Six. Gillian can verify that too.”
“Did you go out afterward?”
“No.”
“Can someone verify you were at the office from three to five-thirty?”
“I was with Mr. James Kinch between three and four, and Mrs. Janice Mendelsohn between four and five.”
“And five to five-thirty?”
“I was wrapping up the day’s business.”
“Was anyone there with you?”
“No.”
Naslund considered Gordon Tyler’s movements. He couldn’t have gotten to Cape Commodore and back and burgled the skiff in half-an-hour, or even forty minutes. Derlago reported that the thief bolted and disappeared into the bush. Presuming he eventually resurfaced and drove off in a vehicle, that in itself would have eaten up half-an-hour, if not far more.
“Where were you yesterday from midnight until six-thirty a.m.?” Moore asked.
Again, Tyler didn’t appear aggravated by the question. From the look on his face, he knew Moore was alluding to MacKenzie’s murder. “I know you’re busy, Inspector. So I’ll be direct again. I was at home. Gillian was there. She can verify that.”
“What were you doing?”
“Sleeping. I got up at seven-thirty, as I always do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Tyler. May I ask you a personal question?”
“Yes?”
; “What do you think of Carolyn MacLean?”
“I don’t know her very well.”
“You’re a direct person, Mr. Tyler. Please be direct in this regard. I repeat, ‘What do you think of Carolyn MacLean?’”
“What do I think? Well, over time, I’ve made some observations.” Tyler paused, as if to marshal his thoughts. “I can tell you this. I found it strange that she wouldn’t marry Thom. Or perhaps Thom wouldn’t marry her. But I don’t know why. As you can see, I don’t know much.”
Moore smiled. “But you do. Please continue.”
“Fine. In my opinion, she was after his money. But I don’t know that. Not for sure.”
“Continue.”
“Here’s another observation. She was always cozying up to my father. I think she wanted something from him. She was trying to use him.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.” Tyler looked frustrated. “I just don’t know.”
Moore nodded. “Do you have any other observations?”
Tyler shook his head.
“Thank you, Mr. Tyler. We appreciate your help.”
***
After escorting the POI from the station, Naslund joined the inspector in his office.
“What’s your read on Gordon Tyler?” he asked.
She hadn’t detected any suspicious behavior or contradictory statements. “He looks clean.”
Moore nodded. “Christ. Is everyone clean?”
She had no reply. The Murphy brothers’ alibis for MacKenzie had checked out.
The inspector sighed. “The ninjas just submitted an update on the Colpoys CS. According to their ground study, it looks like two people carried the victim to the wharf’s edge and threw him into the water. There is no evidence the body was dragged. Dr. Leonard didn’t note any either. I thought we might only have one perp, someone strong enough to carry MacKenzie without dragging him. That changes things.”
Not for me, she thought.
“I think we also have to consider two perps for the Tyler murder. Maybe more.”
She nodded. Exactly. “I have a suggestion. On a different matter.”
“Yes?”
“Given what Gordon Tyler said about MacLean and John Tyler, I’d like to visit John Tyler now. Gordon said MacLean was always cozying up to Tyler Senior, trying to use him. I want to hear what he says.”
Moore glanced at his watch.
“I’ll be back before MacLean arrives,” she said.
Chapter 29
As Naslund entered the Tyler house, Deirdre Tyler searched her eyes hopefully.
“Sorry, Mrs. Tyler,” Naslund said, “nothing to report.”
Deirdre nodded with resignation.
“I’d like to ask your husband a few questions.”
She called John Tyler. “Coffee, Sergeant?”
“No thanks.”
“I have a big pot on the go.” She pointed to the kitchen counter. “Muffins too.”
“Oh. Okay. Thank you very much.”
John Tyler hurried into the kitchen. “Good morning, Sergeant.”
“Morning. Can we sit in the front room?”
“Sure.”
As Naslund expected, the front room was empty. Thom’s younger siblings had gone back to Toronto. She sat across from Tyler Senior in an old leather armchair. After eating a bite of muffin, she got straight to the point. “I want to ask you about Carrie MacLean. Do you think she was trying to use you?”
“Use me? For what?”
“Anything.”
“Use me?” Tyler Senior said again. “That’s a strange question.”
“Take your time. Cast your mind back.”
He gazed out the window. Eventually he turned to face her. “I can only think of one thing. And I’m not sure of that. I wouldn’t call what she did trying to use me.”
“Please continue.”
“Well, she hinted the cottage should be in her name as well as Thom’s. She asked me to bring the matter up with Thom, but I never did.” Tyler Senior shook his head. “She didn’t press the issue. Was that using me?”
“When was that?”
He thought. “About a month ago.”
“Thank you. Sorry to barge in like this.”
“No problem at all.”
Naslund stood. “I’ll see myself out.”
“Sergeant, do you think Carrie was involved in Thom’s death?”
“We don’t know, Mr. Tyler.” Naslund suspected MacLean, but wanted to keep it quiet. “What you and I just spoke of is private. Keep the matter to yourself. Completely. Don’t even mention it to your wife.”
***
Back at the station, Naslund went directly to Moore’s office.
“Come in, Sergeant.”
Naslund sat. “I have some potential ammo for MacLean’s interview.”
“Good.”
“John Tyler wasn’t sure if she was using him, but she hinted the cottage should be in her name as well as Thom Tyler’s. A suspicious mind might think she wanted to get co-ownership of the property before she killed him.”
Moore nodded.
“Add that to Larmer’s words yesterday, and we’re beginning to get motive for MacLean.”
“Right.” He glanced at his watch. “Can you meet her in the foyer?”
“Of course.”
“Please sit in the shadow room.”
“Yes, sir.”
Naslund waited near the front door. At 1005 she strode into Moore’s office. The inspector’s lips were pursed. Having switched on the speakerphone, he punched MacLean’s cell number.
“Hello,” her hurried voice answered.
“Inspector Moore speaking. You’re late.”
“I know.”
“So do I. And I don’t like it.” He hung up.
***
“Coffee, Miss MacLean?” Moore politely asked.
Naslund watched from her post in the shadow room. Good move. The inspector was starting soft. It’d rankle MacLean more when he switched gears.
The suspect shook her head forcefully. “Tea,” she said.
Naslund focused on her mouth. Her lips were curled in a churlish manner.
“Milk? Sugar?” Moore asked.
“Milk,” she curtly ordered. “No sugar.”
He switched on the intercom to the shadow room. “Sergeant Naslund, can you please deliver a tea with milk?”
“Of course, sir.”
Naslund fetched the tea from the staff room, moving slowly, letting MacLean ripen a bit. It was time to turn the tables--to keep the suspect waiting.
A few minutes later, she entered the interview room and placed the tea on the table. She didn’t look at MacLean. Moore sat in the lead chair, reading a report, ignoring the suspect. Naslund returned to the shadow room. She felt her optimism building. Perps were often right under your nose. She sensed the team closing in. The cottage ownership was a gate. If it opened, MacLean would likely fall.
“How are you today?” Moore asked MacLean after she sipped some tea.
She stared at him. How am I?
“I don’t expect you’re well,” he said with false concern.
She tilted her chin.
“How could you be, with two murders on your mind? Perhaps I should rephrase that. On your conscience.”
She eyed him as if to say What are you implying?
“As you no doubt know, Mr. Tyler’s best friend was murdered yesterday. Another murder, Miss MacLean. Another blood bath. Very bloody. As you no doubt know.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying two men were murdered, two men you knew well. Both of them were attacked with the same instrument, a ballpeen hammer. An instrument you could handle with ease. You’re a strong woman. You manhandle huge pots, you lug around large bags of flour and sugar.”
“I lift, Inspector, I carry. I don’t manhandle.”
“You’re a strong woman, a match for any man.”
“I doubt it.”
“D
on’t belittle yourself. You’re a very accomplished woman. Very capable.”
“Spare me the theatrics.”
“Murder is not theater,” the inspector snapped. “It is real. All too real.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Her eyes flashed. “My Thom is dead! Gone!”
Moore ignored her. “Where were you from midnight Sunday July fourteenth until seven a.m. Monday July fifteenth?”
“Owen Sound.” Contrary to her reasonable tone, her eyes were still angry.
“Where?”
“With my friend Terry and her family.” She pulled herself back in the Slider. “She’s a chef. I stay with them when I work late. I worked until two a.m. Monday morning.”
“Where?”
“The Cobble Beach Golf Club.”
“What’s your friend’s full name and address?”
“Terry Kincardine. Ninety-Two Eighth Avenue West.”
“Were you there between two a.m. and seven a.m.?”
“Yes. Until nine a.m., to be precise.”
“I’ll take your word for it.”
“Please don’t. Check my information. Terry and her husband were still up when I arrived. I slept in the same room as their two kids.”
“All right, Miss MacLean, it appears you have an alibi. Congratulations.” Moore smiled insincerely. “But that doesn’t mean you’re innocent. You could have paid someone to murder Mr. Tyler. And then Mr. MacKenzie.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “I’d never bring harm to Thom. Or J.J.”
“We have reason to think you would. We know you and Mr. Tyler were at loggerheads. You weren’t spending time together.”
“I admit, we were going through a bad patch, but who doesn’t? I’d never hurt him. Never!”
“You didn’t have to. You paid someone.”
“Paid someone? Why? Even if I wanted to, how would I know who to pay? Who? Why?”
“Enough. I’ll ask the questions.” Moore leaned forward. “You wonder why? Because Mr. Tyler drove you to it. Are you pregnant, Miss MacLean?”