“Are we under arrest?” Turner asked.
“You’re under suspicion.”
“We barely knew the people who are dead.”
“Suspicious things have been happening around you.”
“The victim is guilty?” Fenwick asked.
“You had that alleged break-in—”
“Alleged?” Fenwick loaded the word with as much sneer and contempt as he could.
“We have only your word that it happened. And not really your word. It is only your friend Ian’s word. He was the first one on the scene.”
“He lives there,” Fenwick said.
“You didn’t call us about the so-called threats from the local young men outside the Naked Moose the other night.”
Fenwick said, “We called about the attack on the lake.”
“For which there is no proof.”
“We’re all lying?” Fenwick asked. “Why?”
“Murder’s been done, maybe you’re trying to cover up. Maybe a lot of things.”
The detectives glared at him.
Bednars entered. She leaned against the door and smiled at Turner and Fenwick. “Did you get any information?”
Turner said, “It seemed kind of mixed bag with a strong lean toward Scarth as a mean-spirited bully. There is a small faction that liked him. His coach, some of his buddies, a few others.”
“You’ve been busy.”
Turner said, “We’ve talked to a lot of people, and we have no notion of who did it. Do you?”
Schreppel said, “I do. Billy Morningsky or your friend or both.”
Turner said, “Have you charged them with murder? Are you saying there’s a conspiracy? They didn’t know each other.”
“We had complaints about Mr. Hume.”
“From whom?”
“I’m not answering your questions.”
Bednars said, “Let these guys see them.”
“You in charge now?”
“You going to be a bigger asshole than usual?”
Schreppel glared for a moment then slapped his hand down on the desk. “You want to see the nosy reporter? Go ahead. I don’t care.”
“How about Billy Morningsky?”
“The kid’s got a lawyer coming. You’ll have to wait on that.”
A clean-shaven young cop escorted Turner and Fenwick to a plain cell in a reasonably clean jail.
Bednars accompanied them down the hall. She said, “Don’t count too much on my beneficence. Schreppel is an asshole, but I’ve got to work with him.”
“What is his problem?” Fenwick asked.
“The town can’t afford the OPP contingent and the local police. They’re threatening cutbacks. He sees us as rivals. He wants to make sure the contract with the OPP is canceled. Provincial funding was changed a few years ago. They no longer get as much money as they once did. The town has cut back on everything else. The mill is gone. The population is declining, but taxes are going up. The smallest OPP detachment allowed is eight. That costs money. That and he’s a racist pig and an asshole.”
“A tough combination to fight against,” Fenwick said.
“Tougher than it should be in this day and age,” Bednars said.
“Why did they bring Ian in for questioning?” Turner asked.
“They found his traveler’s checks at the murder scene.”
“Where exactly?” Turner asked.
“Half in and half out of Evon’s front pocket.”
“So Evon could have had them on her,” Turner said.
“Or the killer could have put them there.”
“Obviously someone stole them from our houseboat the night of the original break-in. Ian reported them missing at the time.”
Bednars said, “I think your friend is going to be released soon, but it’s the biggest anomaly we’ve had so far.”
Fenwick asked, “How come you’ve taken in Billy Morningsky?”
Bednars said, “Schreppel believes in the round-up-the-usual-suspects method of police detection. We’ll wait until his lawyer gets here. I’ll bring you to your friend.”
Ian was in a holding room with Howard Coates and a woman who was introduced as Susan Rogers, a lawyer. Rogers said, “Do you wish to permit these two here during our discussion?”
“Yeah,” Ian said.
“You okay?” Turner asked.
Ian said, “Good enough for now. The cops are morons.”
Turner said, “Your traveler’s checks were at the murder scene.”
“I told them they were missing our first night here,” Ian said. “I hid them in my toilet kit with my extra cash. I’ve told them that seventeen times.”
“They don’t believe you.”
“That’s not my problem.”
“Actually, it is,” Turner said.
Turner didn’t add that it would have been easier just to use an ATM card. Ian didn’t have one. He claimed he wasn’t about to pay a fee to get his own money out of a bank. Turner had mentioned that they charged a fee for traveler’s checks. Ian had ignored him.
Rogers said, “I’ll have him out soon.”
Ian said, “I’m in good hands.”
Turner and Fenwick left.
In the SUV Fenwick said, “I think he’ll be okay.”
“I sure hope so.”
“Who do we go talk to next?” Fenwick asked.
“If we can get in to talk to Scarth’s mother and father, it would help. Dominic said he would make some calls. Trent said he would help out as well.”
“Let’s call.”
Beth Krohn did not want to meet them at her home. She set up a meeting at Howard Coates’s bar.
31
Beth Krohn wore sunglasses as she sat in the darkest corner of the Dangling Fisherman café on the waterfront. Phil, the driver of Mrs. Talucci’s powerboat, sat next to her. He nodded to Paul, stood up, and said, “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
Beth Krohn took off her sunglasses. She said, “Dominic Antonetti phoned me. He said you were a good person. Dominic has been my friend since before I married my husband. Trent spoke well of you. I don’t see enough of Trent.”
Turner said, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
She wiped at a tear. “My husband is taking care of all the arrangements. He won’t talk to me. It’s as if he alone is allowed to grieve for my son.”
“He sounds like a tough man,” Turner said.
“I should have divorced him years ago.”
“Why didn’t you?” Turner asked.
“I don’t know. Habit? He left me alone? We haven’t slept in the same room in years. Scarth wanted us to get a divorce. He begged me to do it. We fought about that.”
“We were told he’d inherit a lot of money if you did.”
“That stupid trust fund his grandfather set up. That family had a lot of sick men in it. Blake Krohn hated me. My husband wouldn’t stand up to him. I was stuck. I doubt if any of the trust is left. I suspect my husband has spent it all.”
“Can he do that without your permission?” Turner asked.
“He does everything without my permission. I have no job and I have no skills. Where would I go? What would I do? I’m not going to live in these woods by myself.” She shivered. “My husband may have had hopes for Scarth and all that sports nonsense, but Scarth always promised me that when he started getting a professional hockey player’s salary, he would take care of me. Alas! He was a good boy. You won’t get me to say something bad about Scarth. I know people have said awful things about him his whole life. They aren’t true.”
Oh, my dear lady, Turner thought, they were probably all true. You’re the one who didn’t see them. Turner had listened to parents of killers for years. It was always society, always violent video games, always evil friends. It was never their kid’s fault. It was never their poor parenting skills. It was always, always somebody else’s fault.
“Scarth wanted you to get a a divorce?”
“Scarth was always urging me to get one. He’d pester
me about it every holiday and birthday. He was after me for years. I know he’d get more money, but I just don’t know what I’d do.”
“Wouldn’t you get a fantastic settlement in a divorce?” Fenwick asked.
“I signed a prenuptial agreement. I was a fool.” She shook her head. “It’s all quite useless. Scarth was a fine boy. We brought him up right. We taught him to respect others and always go out of his way to help other people. He would never hurt a fly.”
Turner said, “I wish there was something I could do to help. If I lost one of my children, I’d never get over it.”
Beth Krohn whispered, “This will hurt for the rest of my life.”
She pulled a tissue out of her purse and wiped at her tears. “My boy was not bad. When he misbehaved in school, it was the teachers’ fault. He was bored. They never kept him interested. He was so bright as a little boy. They always wanted me to put him on medicine. I wasn’t going to drug up my son to get him to obey their silly rules or to get him to do those stupid homework assignments.”
Turner knew exactly where the school and social problem lay. Toxic parents. Turner wasn’t about to lead a crusade saying who could be parents or not, but the right wing desperately wanted to blame everything that they thought was wrong with society on video games or the alignment of the stars or some angry deity that you’d pissed off, rather than starting at where the blame squarely belonged: the parents. It was the philosophy that said we’re all good people, and it’s the world that is evil and it is corrupting our children. It was never their poor pathetic selves with nonsensical beliefs in beings of vast superiority who control our lives or weird educational philosophies that all began and ended with “my kid is perfect, and I’m right, and even more perfect as a parent.” And Scarth Krohn, in his early twenties, had been plenty old enough to begin taking responsibility for his own decisions, for his own mistakes. Turner kept all of this to himself. Why had he wanted to talk to her? Because her son was dead and you always talked to the family because in far more cases than anyone would care to admit, it was a family member who did the killing.
“We were told he was almost expelled from fifth grade.”
“That’s not true. Scarth was more active than most children. They never learned to adapt to his modalities of learning.”
Turner thought, another crackpot educational theory used by some parents and educators to justify their own incompetence. Ian had said that Mrs. Krohn was a whack job, but she didn’t seem further out of the norm than most clueless parents.
Mrs. Krohn said, “The problems seemed to disappear in high school. His coach said he was a good boy, just high-spirited. He won every trophy the school offered in any sport he tried.”
Turner said, “We’ve talked to some people who are pretty angry at him.”
“That’s mostly jealousy of his father. They’re still angry about that stupid paper mill closing. He had nothing to do with it. He sold the paper mill long before it closed. Those union thugs always had it in for my husband. Maybe they’d try to get back at him through his son. I hope someone’s investigating that.”
“Did you know Evon Gasple?” Turner asked.
“Scarth was always trying to help that girl. He had such a big heart. We knew she was from the poor side of town. He took pity on her. See. There. He was trying to help people. He gave her flowers and took her on dates.”
Fenwick said, “We heard he was also dating Mrs. Gasple.”
Mrs. Krohn’s eyes flashed. She sat up straighter. “That woman corrupted my son. She came to me, you know.” She shivered. “She tried to ruin my son.”
“How was that?” Fenwick asked.
“She demanded money from me. From me!” Mrs. Krohn lowered her voice. “She claimed her daughter had to have an abortion. How sick. And that my son was the father. My son wouldn’t do that. He was a good boy. I thought that woman was going to do something violent. Fortunately, we were in my home. I had the housekeeper show her the door. How dare she? She would say anything to sully his reputation.”
Turner said, “We saw something the other night outside the Naked Moose restaurant.”
She raised an eyebrow.
Turner continued, “Scarth and Evon seemed to be leading a group that was pestering some First Nations youngsters the other evening.”
“I’m sure that wasn’t true.”
“I was there. I saw exactly what they did.”
“I’m sure you’re mistaken. Scarth would never do that.”
Turner knew he wasn’t mistaken, but it would be an even bigger mistake to try to get a reality she didn’t want to believe through to this woman. He wasn’t confident reality and Mrs. Krohn were very good friends.
Fenwick asked, “Why did you want to meet here instead of your home?”
“I’m not sure I’m ever going back there. I may just drive off to Vancouver. I’d go farther if there wasn’t an ocean in the way. I never want to see that man again. You can go see him. I’m sure you’re going to anyway. Dominic talked to him. It’ll be a waste of time, but you might as well.”
32
Turner and Fenwick approached the Krohn mansion. It looked like someone had taken the starship Enterprise, twisted it into several new configurations, and then plunked it in the middle of the forest. It was gleaming steel and aluminum with lots of saucer-shaped turrets and then phallic-shaped wings jutting at four different angles. Turner could imagine being beamed up into various parts of the house. They were met by a butler at the door. He said they were expected.
The interior was stark, the furniture mostly nonexistent. The few pieces in the hall were aluminum and leather chairs. Turner thought reclining on a cement slab might be more comfortable. They were led down several long corridors to a sitting room that was nearly as large as the entire ground floor of Turner’s house. A solid concrete mass surrounded the low fireplace. Dark red coals spread over a bed of white provided a constantly even glow. The walls and furniture were oyster white. The chairs were the thick cushiony kind but with no arms. You never had any place to rest your elbows, a book, a television remote. Metallic coffee and end tables were bare of any ornament. Track lighting along the ceiling beamed conical bits of coldness from gray-plastic ovals at random intervals.
Mr. Krohn remained seated in his chair. He shook their hands. “My family and I owe Dominic Antonetti a great deal. That is the only reason I’m speaking with you.”
Turner said, “We’re sorry for your loss.”
Krohn said, “Scarth was a good son.”
Turner said, “We’re hoping our efforts supplement the work of the local police.”
“If you can help find who did this.” He choked up for several moments, then said, “Dominic vouched for you. I hope you can help.”
“Why would someone want to hurt Scarth?” Fenwick asked.
“People in this town hate me. They blame me for their own economic poor planning, and they don’t have the courage to face me. You know how cowards are. They take it out on the most vulnerable. Those union people hate me. The do-gooders in town think I’m evil incarnate. They wanted the mill to stop polluting. That problem is solved. It’s closed. Did that satisfy them? Of course not. Once the closing was announced, they joined the bandwagon of job-saving extremists. I work hard and make a profit. They can work just as hard and make money.”
Fenwick said, “My guess is you started out with a bit more cash on hand than the average person in Cathura.”
“I work hard.”
Fenwick said, “I’m sure they do, too.”
“I’ve heard that Coates asshole thinks Scarth’s death is mixed up with those other six who drowned. That’s nonsense. The others were accidents or maybe suicides. Scarth was murdered.”
“You’re convinced of that?”
“Yes. Scarth was an excellent swimmer. He could hold his liquor. He was seen around town after leaving the bar.”
Fenwick said, “For someone to drown him, they’d have to be bigger and stronger.�
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“Or,” Krohn said, “it could have been more than one. Maybe a group. Those union thugs threatened me and my family when this all started. My son didn’t throw himself in the lake and drown. Somebody pushed him and held him under.”
Fenwick said, “There were signs of violence on the body.”
“The ME said he got caught in a propeller. No, my boy did not just fall off a pier.”
Turner said, “We’re sorry to bother you at such a moment, but if it was murder, we have to know who your son’s enemies were.”
Mr. Krohn said, “There are a few who openly hated Scarth. Oliver McBride, the kid who brought the gun to school to try and shoot him. There’s that skinny First Nations kid, Billy Morningsky. Another is Ralph Bowers, who is out of control. That boy should be locked up. He is dangerous. He let his temper out on my boy. Those school people wouldn’t do anything about it.”
“How about his brother?” Fenwick said.
“Trent’s a good boy.”
Turner asked, “Could he have been jealous of Scarth? Angry with him or you or his mother, maybe trying to get back at you?”
“For what? Trent has a good life. He’s into that ecology, living-off-nature crap at the moment. He prefers the woods to a warm, soft bed. All kids go through that.”
“Scarth didn’t pick on him?”
“Scarth was three years older. He barely had time for his brother with all the activities he was in from a very early age.”
Turner asked, “Could one of his friends have turned on him?”
“I don’t know them that well.”
“How about Evon Gasple?” Turner asked.
“She seemed nice enough. She went to his games and cheered for him.”
Fenwick said, “We got the impression it was kind of an up-and-down relationship.”
“What boy doesn’t try and find himself and try to date all kinds of girls? Scarth was a healthy young man.”
Turner said, “I’m not clear on their relationship. We heard she got an abortion, and we were told Scarth was the father.”
“Impossible. I talked with Scarth in sixth grade. I told him everything. I stressed how important it was for him to use condoms. He told me the kid wasn’t his.”
Hook, Line, and Homicide Page 19