Flush

by Sky Curtis

  She gave me a harassed look. “So, you don’t need Whetstone?”

  “Nope. Everything’s okay.” I hope. I had better brief him about what was happening, in case I did need him to keep me out of jail, or bail me out. The thought of being in a jail with drug-addicted thieves and petty criminals terrified me. On the other hand, maybe I’d meet the mayor there and get an exclusive interview.

  She seemed relieved. “Good. I’ve briefed him on the situation so at least if you do need him, he won’t be surprised.”

  One less chore for me.

  “Great, thanks for your support Shirley. Anything else I need to know? Should I bring Doug up to date?”

  Shirley was already at her computer screen, eyes straining at the type. She was absent-mindedly searching for her glasses through the wreckage on her desk. Her fingers joggled goodbye as she was looking at her computer. I took the hint.

  Now what? Did I go to Doug’s office and report on my police encounter, or did my meeting with Shirley cover all the bases? Oh, what the hell. He was my boss, at least on this article, so I should have gone to him first and not to Shirley at all. I held my hand up at Doug’s door and then, summoning all my courage, rapped twice as smartly as I could. My nerves sizzled all over my body.

  “Yes,” Doug yelled.

  I jumped out of my skin. Geez. Why did he have to do that?

  “Robin, Robin, Robin,” he sang, Mr. Cordiality. “Have a seat. How did it go at the police station? I see you are still a free woman.” Doug ran his hand through his thinning hair, fiddling with a few strands to cover his bald spot. He smiled broadly, his new dental caps glowing an eerie mauve, like a neon zipper at a disco.

  I laughed, matching his forced camaraderie, “So far still footloose and fancy free. Doug, that’s me. It went pretty well, thanks.” I was playing with a toggle on my purse. Stop it! Put my hands in my lap.

  “Hmmm,” he put his hands in front of him on the desk, in a sideways teepee, fingers pointing towards me. “Did they ask you how you initially met Todd Radcliffe?”

  So, the third degree. “Yes, I told them that I had been at the valve opening ceremony for the deep lake cooling system and knew him first there.”

  “Did you actually meet at the convention? And what do you mean ‘first’? Was there a ‘second?’ Bring me up to speed here.”

  I settled in for the long haul. He was going to get every detail out of me. “In answer to your first question, sir, no, we didn’t actually meet at the convention. He was speaking on a podium and I asked him some questions during the question period at the end.

  “And what were your impressions of him?”

  Did I tell the truth or fudge around? The best bet would be to tell the truth. “He was physically a very attractive male specimen.” Was that too clinical? “But I didn’t like him much.”

  “Why not?” Doug leaned forward, interested.

  “Well, he was sexist, for one, he was demeaning and dismissive towards Cindy and me, didn’t take our questions seriously, and for another…” I paused, wondering how to explain the look in Todd’s eye that had spooked me. “His eyes glinted,” I said. It sounded so feeble.

  Doug didn’t laugh. “Glinted,” he repeated. “Glinted how, Robin? What was your gut feeling?”

  “Something seemed off, like he was dishonest or something. Hiding something. But I put it down to the lighting in the room. Bouncing off his eyes, you know what I mean?”

  Doug creaked his chair backwards. “Always trust your first impressions, Robin. It had nothing to do with the light, which was your second thought. Your first hunch that he was dishonest, perhaps a criminal of some kind, is probably the correct thought. You have good instincts, obviously. Follow them.”

  I was puzzled. I hadn’t done a thing to earn this praise. I went out on a limb. “Why do you say that?”

  Now Doug laughed, “Well, he’s dead, isn’t he? He must have been involved in something not kosher. It’s your job to find out what.”

  “Oh.” Of course. Why was I so stupid?

  Doug continued, his mouth flapping away, while I chastised myself for saying I was stupid. Looked like I was in for a lecture. I settled further down in my chair.

  “When you are an investigative reporter you need to find all the facts and then put them into a story that makes sense. You aren’t allowed to come to conclusions on paper. No, no, no, Robin, that would get everyone in trouble. But, you have to lead people, ever so subtly, to an idea of what everything means. Juxtapose your facts. For example, this mayor business,” Doug pointed a finger at me. “He said he hadn’t been drunk for over a year, so we report that. The police, on the other hand, have the video we just saw, time-stamped, showing the mayor dancing a wild jig while flipping the bird at kids playing on the street. So, we report that too. In the very next sentence. We don’t say the mayor is a liar, no no. But by juxtaposing the facts, people can draw their own conclusions. See how it works?”

  “Yes, sir.” I was feeling small. This world was very new to me.

  “I’m going to help you with this. You will do well, don’t look so worried.”

  I relaxed my face even though my heart was hopping around in my chest. Again the question: anxiety, or a heart attack?

  “Let’s look at some of the facts. First of all, what do we know about the deep lake cooling system?”

  Because I had written an article about it, I knew my facts. “Well,” I took a deep breath as I organized my thoughts into a summary, “a very large pump was put out into the middle of the lake and secured to the bottom and—”

  “By whom? Who exactly put out the pump?”

  I squirmed. I vaguely remembered something about a captain of a ship. “I don’t know.”

  “Okay, write down the question in your notebook.”

  I assumed he meant my iPad. I opened a new file and typed in the question.

  “Okay, now go on.”

  I could see this was going to take ages. I was starving. Didn’t Doug eat lunch? “This pumps water to a cooling station where the coldness of the water is extracted.” I waited for him to interrupt. He didn’t disappoint.

  “Where is the cooling station and what happens to the water once the coldness is extracted?”

  Being too stressed by all this to actually answer all the questions—I did know the answers, or most of them—I made a show of dutifully typing in the questions, then continued my recitation of the facts I knew. “From there, the very cold water is pumped through pipes into some downtown buildings to cool them down. The excess water is diverted to peoples’ homes.” This was a very condensed version of the operation of the system.

  “Which buildings?” He was relentless.

  I typed that question into my growing list and continued. I must have looked impatient. I didn’t remember sighing, but perhaps I had.

  “Every single fact is important.” Doug admonished me, deadly serious. “You know something, Robin. You probably even know who the killer is, if he was killed. The answer to his death lies in the facts that you know.” He held his hand up in a stop gesture. Or perhaps it was a blessing. “You must be very careful. Somebody might figure out that you know something. That even if you haven’t figured out what that something is, you might.”

  “I understand,” I nodded, trying to sound blasé. I was used to my life being threatened. I had survived four teenagers, hadn’t I? “We were told at the convention by Todd Radcliffe that the system was better than the air conditioning systems already in place in the event of a power outage. With this new system, people could continue to work. He said the people of the city would have purer drinking water. We were also told that this new system would save a great deal of energy.”

  “Hogwash. If there is a power outage, then the pumps won’t pump. People can’t get up to their offices or have light to see by. The ‘people can still work’ ar
gument is a non-starter. I’m assuming the old pipes were lead and the new ones are plastic. Is plastic safer than lead? We don’t know that. They give off molecules, you know? Baby bottles and all that. Check it out. Plus deconstructing the old system and constructing the new system probably used a great deal of energy. Manufacturing, shipping, gas, etcetera. It will likely take thirty years to recover the savings, and by then, the system will be so old it will need to be replaced. So, no savings.”

  My opinion of Doug climbed about ten degrees. In two seconds flat he had figured out the flaws in the arguments for the system. But then, maybe he’d read my article and was letting me know he had. “That’s what my article was about. The one that was published, but now that Radcliffe is dead there’s a better story,” I said sadly.

  “Nothing is wasted, Robin. You still have the article as background. I read it, by the way. It was very good.”

  Oh, so he didn’t assess the situation all on his own. Back down he went a few ampoules. But then up he clambered again; he’d been interested enough in me to carefully read what I’d written. “Once Radcliffe had done his introductory spiel another guy went on stage to finish up the ceremony and open the valves.” I struggled again for the name buried in my brain. Horney. Horner. “Richard van Horner, vice president of Everwave.”

  “And what did you think of him? First impression.”

  “Cute ass.”

  Doug laughed. “What did he seem like to you? In general?”

  “He seemed energetic and sort of fun. He clowned around a bit. While he was opening the valves.”

  “Okay, let’s get this straight. Why was the vice president of the company opening the valves, not the president? And how did Radcliffe react to the VP horsing around on stage? Did you notice anything? Like was he impatient or anything like that?”

  I looked down, chagrined. “No, I didn’t. Maybe Cindy did,” I said brightly, “Or Jack England.”

  “Jack England? What was he doing there? He doesn’t usually cover something like this.” Doug jerked his head forward, like a Rottweiler guarding his property. “Go find out. Maybe there’s an international crime ring component.”

  I obediently made a note in my iPad, but I sure didn’t believe that and I sure didn’t want to talk to England.

  “So, let’s continue with your story. You said it was the first time you had met Radcliffe. Tell me about the second time.”

  Darn. I had hoped he’d forgotten that “second” mention. My stomach growled. I was so hungry. “Well I was doing some internet dating and met him online, independently of the convention. We got together at the Starbucks on Bloor near Avenue Road. That was the night he was killed.”

  “Anything interesting in his profile? International connections?”

  Again, I tried to remember his self-description. Again, nothing jumped out at me as odd. “The cops wanted to know that too. He went to school in the States. Harvard. Other than that everything was pretty regular. Generic. He called himself ‘Mr. Sail Away.’”

  The pupils in Doug’s eyes had sharpened to little pinpoints, maybe because the summer sun had passed over the top edge of the building and was shining through his western-facing window, making his pupils contract, or maybe because he was zeroing in on a serious thought. “Why did you meet with him? I thought you said there was something about him that you didn’t like? That he was sexist.”

  Zeroing in. The truth would be out. “I didn’t know it was him before the date was set up.”

  “How was the date set up? Let’s back up here.”

  “On the internet. We met online.”

  “Why didn’t you know him? Didn’t you look at his picture?”

  “There was no picture.”

  Doug was scanning my face for an explanation. I know I didn’t look like an alcoholic. No bloodshot eyes, veins in my cheeks, or shaking hands. My nose hadn’t swollen up like a bulbous balloon. No aftershave in my back pocket. But somehow I couldn’t keep up the façade. “I had been drinking. Not thinking straight.” If I could have disappeared, I would have. What an admission. And to a boss. Had I made a terrible mistake?

  Doug smiled kindly, “Thank you for your candor. Everyone here drinks too much. It comes with the job.” He patted his belly. “Me? I’ve stopped, but I’ve taken up eating instead. Ice cream. I crave sweet things. I know where every Baskin and Robbins is in the city.”

  I was so relieved that I laughed outright. “I do both. Eat and drink. I’m working on it.”

  “Anyway, so you met with him. How did that go?”

  “Terribly and pretty good. On one hand he lied to me about smoking. He said he didn’t smoke but he did. And, at times, he seemed evasive. In fact, a hippy earth-type girl walked by and muttered that he was dishonest. I didn’t know what to think about that. Anyway, once he relaxed and he stopped being such a sexist pig, I sort of thought he was okay.”

  “Well, let’s go with your first impression. He sounds like he was up to something. And it’s my guess that something has to do with our fresh water. Find out if he was killed, maybe tortured, so somebody could get the location of the pump.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And how did you say goodbye?”

  “Just a handshake, nothing more, but we agreed to see each other again.” Over my dead body. Actually, his, ha ha. Don’t laugh out loud, Robin.

  “So what else happened? Anything?”

  “Afterwards Jack England accosted me, forced me into that construction site west of Avenue Road on Bloor, and wanted to know what I was up to. He pushed me so that I fell backwards into a wall. I pushed back.”

  “Did you tell the police?” Doug asked sharply.

  “Yes, I think they are going to look into it.”

  “Well, I want you to look into it, too. That’s twice he’s shown up in this account, and there is a reason for that. He’s onto something and I want you to get there first. Talk to him under the ruse of being pissed off about him forcibly attacking you.”

  “No ruse. I am angry.”

  “Okay, Robin,” Doug looked at his hands, his watch, and then met my eyes. I could see his thoughts falling into place. “I think there is a lot more you are not telling me, probably to save time. But I want you to make a note of everything you can remember about Radcliffe and the convention, his profile, and your date.

  “Question everything you write down. I mean everything. What year was Radcliffe born? Where did Horner come from? The ship’s captain interests me. Where is he now? How much was he paid? Who was on the ship with him? Is he part of this scam? And so forth. Find out everything you can. If you don’t know the answers to everything, then go find them out. The answers will lead you to his cause of death. But I think it was either a biological attack by an international crime ring for our fresh water, or a suicide. We’ll know more after the autopsy. This is going to take a while, so be patient. It will be worth it.”

  I was typing down all his questions as quickly as I could. His desk phone rang.

  As he picked up the receiver, he kept talking to me. “This is a big story, Robin, so far not as big as the mayor hoopla happening now, but once the mayor steps down, if he does, we will need another great story. I don’t want Jack England to get there first. What you’re on to here involves taxpayer’s money, the environment, the government, people’s workplaces, and worldwide concern over fresh water. Pretty sexy. Or at least sexy enough to sell papers.”

  I stood up to go, “Not to mention a man’s death.”

  “There is that,” conceded Doug, already focused on his incoming phone call.

  17.

  THE VENDING MACHINES WERE CALLING ME. I lumbered down a flight of stairs and bought a cellophane-wrapped egg salad sandwich on what was advertised as whole wheat, but was so pale it was hard to tell. I examined it dubiously. Looked pretty white to me. Whatever it was, it was soggy. I ripped o
ff a corner with my teeth and slogged back up the stairs. I took my first bite and wondered how I was going to swallow a mouthful of wet towel. By the time I got to my desk it had been demolished and sat like a lump in my stomach.

  Cindy, on the other hand, was licking the crumbs off the wrapper of a butter tart. She looked at me from under her eyelashes and ran her tongue seductively over the wrapper held up to her mouth. I groaned and rolled my eyes. “Give it a rest.” I was in a bad mood. I didn’t buy into the international crime ring angle. Todd simply wasn’t that kind of guy. And him committing suicide? If pigs could fly. Both the police and Doug were off in la-la land. Yeah, I was cranky.

  Cindy put the wrapper down and smiled widely, head tilted, eyebrows raised, and one shoulder up in a shrug. It was her Valley Girl impression. “So, how did it go in there?” She tilted her head towards Shirley’s office.

  “Oh just fine.” I grumbled. “She was crabby because of the mayor so I got in and out quickly.”

  “And in there?” Cindy tilted her head towards Doug’s office. I could see him looking out his glass window at the skyline. What was he thinking?

  “He’s pretty good, you know. Asks the right questions, wants to teach me stuff, isn’t patronizing. I was surprised. Way better than the police interview.”

  “He’s a smart boss, but don’t get on the wrong side of him. He can be fierce.”

  I’d seen a bit of that aggressiveness when I’d mentioned Jack England’s name. Which reminded me, I’d have to find out what he was up to. “Do you have Jack England’s phone number? Or email?”

  “Why do you want to talk to that lying prickola? He’s the competition.”

  I swung my thumb towards the boss’s office. “Doug.”

  “Oh, you have a directive. Best to obey. He’ll want to know what you find out. That guy doesn’t miss a beat.”

  I entered the number she gave me into my phone and debated on calling him right then and there. Might be good to have a witness. “Want to be my witness?” I said to her as I tapped his newly-entered number with my finger.