Flush

by Sky Curtis

  The two officers who had gone off in the direction of the trees were heading back. The handsome one was carrying a couple of clear plastic bags in his gloved hand. He held one up, “Some casings.” Then he held up the other one. “Blue nylon mesh caught on some bark. Probably from a gym bag or knapsack. I want to canvass the neighbours and ask them if they saw anything.”

  Creston took the evidence bags and replied, “Yes, and ask them about a white van as well. The shooter may have run from the trees to a getaway vehicle. A white van was seen down the street. Maybe someone noticed a license plate.”

  Maybe Cindy and I were both right about the shooter.

  The cop talking to Creston was fantastically handsome. My mind drifted, imagining how it would feel to be in this fine man’s arms at night, being kissed. But I knew this guy from somewhere. Where had my memory gone? I needed to stop drinking. And then I remembered. He had gotten off the elevator at Todd’s condo before I had gotten on. What had Creston just said? Oh right, license plate.

  Wait. I had an idea and pulled out my iPad. I flipped through the photos I had taken while we were waiting for van Horner to come home. “Here, I have a photo of the van.” I enlarged the photo and read off the furry numbers of the license plate for Creston. He tried not to look too excited and flipped open his notebook, wrote it down then tore off the sheet and handed it to the other cop with the unfortunate face and ponytail. “Run this,” he ordered, turning to the good-looking fella. And then rotating ninety degrees to me, he dictated his cell number, saying, “Send me the photo. In fact, if you don’t mind, send me all the photos you took.”

  I cooperated and heard his phone ding repeatedly as the texts landed.

  Creston snapped his notebook shut and Stokes reached into his pocket. I heard a distinct click. So, he’d been taping us on his cell. Maybe he wasn’t such a dimwit. I peered at him straight in the eye as I pulled out my phone from my jacket pocket and tapped my recording app. Then I smiled at him, oh so pleasantly. I was catching on.

  Creston was holding up the bags and looking through the plastic at the booty. “Good job, guys.” He looked towards us and introduced them. “Misener and Melfours. M and M. Two great cops on my team.”

  Melfours had movie star quality good looks: tall, dark, chiseled jaw, brown sparkling eyes. But way too young for me. Misener looked like a bulldog, his head squashed into his neck as if he’d run into a bar fight. Or a truck. Strands of thin hair were scrapped off his face into a ponytail. He was the one to whom Creston had handed the license plate number. We introduced ourselves to the two cops but knew we had been politely but clearly dismissed.

  Cindy turned the keys in the ignition and the dashboard lit up. I saw with a shock it was now five after eight. I had to be all the way downtown to meet England in less than thirty minutes. “I have to be at Bloor and Avenue Road at eight thirty to meet with England. Do you still want to drive me there, after my unfathomable betrayal to the enemy?”

  Cindy waved off my sarcasm. “Of course I will.” She glanced at her watch, “We’re twenty minutes away, max. What did you think of Melfours?”

  “Not a match, Cindy. I’d be labelled a bobcat.”

  “Cougar. You mean cougar.”

  “Right. Cougar.” I couldn’t wait to get the meeting with England over with and get home. Good thing it was a dog walker day, otherwise Lucky would be waiting with crossed legs. I sighed. “Just one more thing to do today and then home.”

  “Unless something happens between you and England.” Cindy grinned at me wickedly.

  I looked out the window and said, “Gross.”

  20.

  I COULD SEE THE TALL AND SPINDLY REPORTER folded into a leather chair through the grime-covered Starbucks window. Jack England was already drinking something with froth on top and working on his computer. Although he looked pretty innocent, attractive even, the memory of him trapping me against the wall in the construction site made me shiver. I had to confess I was jittery about meeting him on my own. Did I ask Cindy for another favour after our little spat? Yes. Fear won the day.

  “I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind waiting for me. Then maybe drive me back down to the Express so I can get my car?”

  Cindy turned her body and leaned back against the car door, the better to see me. “You frightened of him?” She jerked her thumb in his direction.

  “Yeah, well, something pretty hairy is going on. A guy is dead, another one shot, and England did drag me off the street. The big picture is not as innocent as a skinny guy sitting in a Starbucks with foam on his upper lip.”

  Cindy nodded slowly, taking it all in, “Sure I’ll wait. No problem. Here on Bloor Street, out of view from where he’s sitting, with my flashers on. I’ve got lots of work to do while I wait. And of course I’ll drive you down to your rat trap.”

  “Thanks, you’re a good friend, Cindy.”

  “Don’t give it another thought. You’re welcome.”

  As I shut the door I mouthed through the window, “Keep your phone on.”

  She gave me a thumb’s up through the windshield so I’d know she’d understood. As I headed towards the glass door of the Starbucks, I took a last glance at her inside her car. Her red head was bent low over her tablet while cars on Bloor zigzagged around her, punctuating the air with dainty little honks. Canadians are so polite.

  When I pulled open the heavy door of the coffee shop a wave of warmish air rolled into the street. Nonetheless, I pulled my light jacket closer around me as I walked towards England’s table. It seemed cold inside, or was it just me? Glancing around the Starbucks, I was surprised to see the dreadlocked kid again, writing in her spiral notebook. Our eyes met briefly and a smile played around her lips. I wondered what she was thinking. I was dating tons of guys? I was meeting drug dealers?

  As I approached England, I could see that his thinning ebony hair was combed over to hide a bald spot. This was somehow endearing. If I had to describe him, I would say he had boyish good looks: button nose, fair Irish skin framed by raven hair and onyx eyes, and a childlike rosebud mouth all collected in an emaciated face. Not my type. I was already a mother of four, who needed another child? It was hard for me to reconcile his prettiness with the same guy who had threatened me. Well, I thought to myself, straightening up my shoulders, let’s see who gets what out of this meeting.

  “Hi Jack, thanks for meeting with me.” No sense in being antagonistic. “Looks like you’ve settled in here.”

  He glanced up from his computer, his obsidian eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiled at me. This was unexpected. So, he was going to play nice and share his toys? His voice had the same low gravelly tone as it did the night before, but it had lost the menacing quality. “I had some free time, so thought I’d wait here until you showed up. Busy day?”

  You have no idea. “Oh, this and that. The usual. Deadlines, work work work.” I laughed breezily.

  “Thanks for telling the police about our little encounter.” He was so wry.

  I could use a little rye.

  “I had to, Jack.” I stood in front of him at the table, defending myself. “You were pretty rough. That was an assault. You can’t do that. I need you to understand that society doesn’t tolerate women being threatened.” I was admonishing him as though he were a child.

  He had the grace to look down. “I am very sorry. I’m on Prednisone for Crohn’s; it makes me a little squirrely. I call it roid rage. I will be more cognizant of its effects and control myself.”

  So, that’s why he was so thin. He was ill. But I didn’t acquiesce. “Plus, it’s a murder investigation.” He looked so miserable that I finally relented. “Did you get in big trouble?” I sat down at his table and hung my bag over the back of my chair. I still had my phone in my jacket pocket and felt for it instinctively. With a little touch and feely finger fumbling, I did my best to activate the recording app. Hopefully
it and not my newly downloaded calm app went on. My thumb was ready as I listened for the tell tale wind chimes that marked the beginning of a guided meditation. Nothing. I was good to go.

  “No.” He leaned back and crossed his grasshopper legs at the knee. He was wearing basketball shoes. Geez, how old was he? “I’ve helped them a lot in the past. Led them towards criminals, you know, that sort of thing. It’s a good working relationship.”

  “So, what did you tell them?”

  “Nothing they didn’t know already. That Radcliffe was planning to steal lake water from the deep water cooling system, you know, from the pump in the middle of the lake.”

  “Oh that.” I looked at him with what I hoped looked like boredom. But in truth, I felt numb, trying to absorb this astonishing information. Why hadn’t the police told me this? They’d said virtually the opposite, that he was the victim of a crime ring that was conspiring to steal the water. I guess I wasn’t playing the game all that well. But still, you’d think they’d mention that crucial detail at least to Cindy. She’d helped them just as much as England. I knew they dropped tasty morsels in her lap every now and then, in exchange for future gifts. Nothing made sense. Especially not with van Horner’s being shot on top of Radcliffe’s death. Stealing fresh water? Radcliffe? Not some international group? Hardly seemed likely. Maybe England was making this up to throw me off the scent. But he seemed so plausible.

  England was stirring his coffee, watching me carefully as I acted cool, his plastic stir stick hitting the sides with soft little thuds. He seemed mesmerized by the oily pink and purplish streaks in the foamy bubbles of his latte. Suddenly he jumped up. “How rude of me. Would you like some coffee or tea?”

  I was jolted out of my thoughts. “Sure, thanks, peppermint tea. No, chamomile. No, peppermint. Peppermint.”

  “I like a girl who knows her mind,” he taunted, acting as if he’d scored a round.

  Boys. I smiled into his eyes.

  As he departed I dug out my cell phone. Yes! The recording app was on, a miracle. Then I texted Cindy with the information about Radcliffe. She’d be amazed. Radcliffe was planning on stealing lake water from the pumping station in the middle of the lake. International.

  She responded immediately. He’s throwing you off. Couldn’t be.

  My fingers flying, I replied, Why not?

  Doesn’t make sense with van Horner’s attack. Maybe somebody else is planning to steal the water, or maybe stealing something else and wants the bosses out of the way.

  England thumped the paper cup full of green watery tea in front of me. I put my phone away and smiled my deepest gratitude. So. A liar, liar, pants on fire. I could negotiate this easily. After all, I was the mother of Calvin, the Honda Civic racing maniac. I had nights of practice, sniffing out the truth from the lies. Oh yeah, I knew how to get the facts. The trick to extricating the truth from lies was to get someone comfortable and talking so they’d be on a roll. The truth would slip out between their unsuspecting lips.

  I figured there was probably some truth in what England had told me. No doubt someone was trying to steal something, just as Cindy said, possibly Lake Ontario’s fresh water, but it sure wasn’t Radcliffe. I believed his death put that notion to bed. Unless someone wanted him out of the way so they could get it. Now there was a possibility. Maybe. I would have to pry it out of Jack. If he even knew.

  “Thanks for the tea, Jack.” I put my hands around the paper cup. “It’s freezing in here.”

  “Ironic considering that we’re doing a story on air conditioning.”

  “Oh, is that what it is?” I raised an eyebrow, just one.

  “You don’t need to get pissy.”

  “Really? I should forget that you attacked me. For a measly air conditioning story? Is that how you usually communicate?”

  England was contrite enough to avert his eyes, “Yes, well, again, I’m sorry. When I get on a story I get carried away.”

  So, I’d won round two. “On a story about air conditioning?” We were now in the third period of this hokey game. I was still trying to keep him unbalanced.

  “Listen, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I am sure you felt very threatened. The police have spoken to me and I certainly won’t do it again.” He took a sip of his coffee, covering his pretty lips with some milky foam. He seemed sincere. I briefly thought about licking the bubbles off his lips.

  Round three. But now was the time to be a good team player, get him gushing. “That’s okay Jack. I understand. We all get carried away when something is important. It’s hard in this business.” I passed the ball with a little flattery. “I admire people who are passionate about their work. You were on a mission!”

  England’s chest puffed out. “Yes, following that guy was a real challenge.”

  So, he was following Radcliffe. Not me. It wasn’t a lie. Round four.

  “Talk about busy,” Jack continued. “For the past few days he’s been all over the city. The guy spent more on transportation than I do in rent.”

  “Yeah, you were kept hopping. I saw you dash along Bloor after him right after you talked to me.” Good strategy to downplay his attack. Simply wait for the foot in the mouth.

  “Man, he was zipping along. By the time I left you Radcliffe was gone. I could only speculate that he had run along Bloor to St. George and was heading to the subway. So that’s where I went. Naturally I didn’t have the correct change, Murphy’s law,” Jack complained. “But while I was waiting in line to get through the turnstile I saw him in the crowd ahead of me. I figured he was probably going home, so I caught the next westbound train, got off at Bathurst and took the Bathurst streetcar down to King and then the King car along.”

  So, Jack knew where he lived. “Did you catch up to him?”

  “I did,” said England smugly. “He must have dawdled somewhere, because when I arrived at his address he was putting his key in the lobby door.”

  So, there was the foot in the mouth. A whopper lie. No keys in that building, as I well knew. Did I call him on it? Or let him dig himself in deeper. I played along. “Doesn’t he live in those new condos, near Liberty Village?”

  He nodded. “What a transformation of wasteland.”

  “I would have thought they’d all have keyless entry.”

  England’s left knee started to pump up and down. “You’re right. He was tapping in numbers on a key pad.”

  “Surely he didn’t scan his key fob to open the door?”

  Now both knees were bouncing. He was running a stationary marathon. “Right. I wasn’t sure what I saw. But he was there.”

  Yeah, right. “Did you see anything else? Someone following him, other than you? Like a murderer?” I laughed, offhandedly.

  “No, only a few regular pedestrians were around.”

  “What was he doing by the waterfront earlier today?” A guess, but I was on a winning streak, he was definitely off kilter.

  “I don’t know.” England fudged and then leaned forward, as if he were spreading some juicy gossip, “He was going onto a ship. Probably to get the captain to help him hook up the pump to a diverting pipe to siphon off the fresh water into a tanker.” England paused, his black eyes drifting up to the left and his red tongue licking his teeth as if tasting the credibility of his story. Such a card. “Hey?” His piercing tar-black eyes focused on me, “How did you know I was there?”

  “When I called you this morning I could hear seagulls.” Plus, you told me, stupid.

  “Oh. Clever. Anyway, he and van Horner were walking up a gang plank onto one of the boats down there.”

  “So, because of this you think he was planning on stealing water from the pumping station? That doesn’t hold water, ha ha. Maybe someone else was planning the theft.”

  The knee started up again. This man was a terrible liar. Or I was really good at sussing out the “tells.”r />
  “Nope. It was his gig. I think he was casing out the boat to see how he could work the theft.”

  “Hmmm. What was the name of the boat?”

  “The Barbara D.”

  Easy enough to remember. Time for me to head out. I had tons of information and I knew that England had no idea he had given me so much. He probably didn’t even know he had so much information. It was clear he didn’t know who had killed Radcliffe, that he didn’t yet know that van Horner had been shot, or who was trying to steal the water, if anyone.

  My head was spinning with the complexity of it all. This was a far cry from sheep shit for award-winning azaleas. I could see out of the corner of my eye the nose of Cindy’s car sliding up so she could take a look into the café and then sliding back again. It brought me back to reality. I was dealing with a liar.

  “Really, that’s the name? Come on England, you’ve lied like eighty times since we’ve been here. How many cards do you have to play? What was the name of the boat? The Diane B.? The Catherine F.?”

  His boyish face glowered. “Okay, so I tried to mislead you. It’s a competitive world out there, Robin. I have to sell papers or I’ll lose my job. The Times isn’t as big as the Express and doesn’t have the same advertising muscle behind it. I have to resort to any and all means to get information. So, sorry. I was feeding you lines to see what you’d say.” He laughed and spread his arms, as if apologizing for my ignorance. “You know nothing,” he warbled. “I wanted to beat you to the punch.”

  He smiled at me innocently, activating those attractive lines around his eyes. All was fair in love and war. Such a darling. But again, not my type. Besides, was he lying now? I thought The Times was in pretty good shape. It was a national and we were just a local paper. The Times had nice shiny paper and we used plain old newsprint. Their colour photos were crisp and authentic looking. Ours looked like watercolours after a rain. Yeah, it was a lie.

  “Look, you are a pathological liar,” I said amiably. “From now on everything you tell me is going to be flushed down the toilet. You are busted. I know The Times is in good shape, so don’t try to weasel out of your behaviour with that lame excuse. I know your modus operandi, I had four kids. You think if you feed me bad information I’ll either correct it to your face so you’ll get something you didn’t know, or I’ll run with it and be led down the garden path, wasting time.”