by Sky Curtis
“Schedule?” said Creston.
The boy turned around and looked at us, shoulders up and holding out a hand, palm up. Innocent. “He’s a med student and his schedule is pretty harsh. Here, in this house, we’re all in sciences. It’s crazy trying to keep the place clean and organized, what with labs and lectures and tutorials. So we put everyone’s schedules on the fridge to keep track.”
The idea of a med student being involved in some sort of water theft didn’t seem likely to me. Creston was fiddling with his keys and I guessed he was thinking the same thing. Santiago was probably just doing a summer job when he helped install the pump, not trying to figure out how to suck the lake dry. When the kid came back he handed a grease-stained piece of paper to Creston, who held it gingerly between his fingertips and away from his clothing.
“Looks like he’ll be home about three-thirty for a few hours before his evening classes.” Creston looked at the young student. “What’s your name by the way?”
“Christopher Stanhope, sir.”
“Christopher, do you happen to know a, ummm…” Creston unfolded the piece of paper I had given him with the names and addresses of the crew, “Diego Duarte?”
Christopher’s face creased in a big smile, “Sure I do. DD and Santi are friends. DD lives around the block, but he’s here a lot. You know, dinners and that.”
“Hmmm,” thought Creston, “What about Agustin Jimenez?”
“Jimmy owns this place. A great landlord. Something breaks, he’s on it. He’s a sailor or a captain or something. DD and Santi work on his boat in the summer. I could too, if I wanted, but I get too seasick. It’s the only small sturdy boat around that has a crane, so they’re always working on finicky situations. Great summer job, on the water and everything.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know DD’s schedule, by chance?”
“Yup. It’s the same as Santi’s. They did that so they could help each other out. You know, if one has to work for Jimmy and miss a class, they can copy the other’s notes. Jimmy? My guess is he’s down at the waterfront on his boat.” Christopher looked at his cheap watch. “Just about now.”
“What do you know about the boat?” asked Creston.
“Other than the fact that it has a huge crane folded on top of the cockpit? Oh yeah, it’s called the ‘Josephine S.’ I remember because my sister’s name is Josephine.”
I inwardly fumed. That Jack England was such a liar. Josephine S. was a far cry from Barbara D. I resolved to never believe anything that came out of his mouth. I was with Creston on this. England was deceitful, period. Kind of cute with an I-do-yoga-look about him, but still. A liar. I wouldn’t defend him anymore.
“Thanks for all your help,” said Ralph. “I imagine we’ll see you later today when they’re home. “
“I’ll be here.” Christopher shut the door behind us.
It was such a beautiful morning. Tiny sparrows hopped on the cracked sidewalk, chirping to their heart’s content, looking for crumbs. I felt so different. Just yesterday if I’d met a kid like Christopher I would have been highly critical of his plaid flannel jammies and hoodie, thinking he was a lazy no-good for nothing. I would have been judgmental about the ear buds too. Who did he think he was kidding, listening to music while studying? Yeah, right. He was probably stoned, flipping pages randomly while he listened to heavy metal, not a word sinking in from his textbook. And today, here I was enjoying the birdsong and thinking he was such a nice kid, working hard at school and trying to be comfortable while he studied. Was this the result of being grateful for a few minutes these past few mornings?
Meanwhile, Ralph was saying something as he walked down the path to his car. I tuned into his voice, a bit late. “…No point. Let’s go straight down to the waterfront.”
I dismissed the random thoughts in my head and responded, hoping that I had guessed accurately what conclusion he had come to “Yeah, Diego won’t be home and Jimmy is probably down on his boat.”
Ralph looked at me over the hood of his weary Ford, head tilted on one side. “And no point in getting coffee either, since we just had some.”
Oops.
Better to own up. “Sorry about that. I was off in my own thoughts, thinking about how interesting kids’ brains are these days. How they can do five or six things at once and still accomplish stuff. Amazing actually, when you think of it.”
“Well, aren’t you the positive one. Even after having four kids.”
“What about you, Ralph?” I said his name tentatively, wondering how he would react. But he had, after all, told me to call him Ralph. And I had been doing just that, in my head, for some time now. “Any kids?”
Ralph stiffened. “Three. Adults now.” His voice was clipped, every syllable articulated.
Better leave that alone for a bit. I picked a safe topic. “Any idea where the Josephine S. is parked?”
Ralph spat, “Berthed.”
Anger flared in me. I was not going to be talked to unkindly. “Geez. Excuse me for living.” I got into the car and slammed the door.
Ralph settled into his seat and did up his seatbelt. “Sorry. I get upset when I think about my kids.” He put on his flicker and pulled out into the road.
But I was tired of being a whipping boy. “You’re right, Ralph. I try not to lie. I try to be honest about most things, like how I’m feeling. If I’m angry about something I don’t take it out on something or someone else. It is important to not kick the dog because someone kicked you.”
Ralph took his eyes of the road and looked at me, his eyes as soft as water running over rocks. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Then he looked straight ahead.
I was bowled over. A man who could take responsibility for his actions and not try and lay blame elsewhere? A man who looked at me with such slow eyes? What was happening? I was speaking up for myself. And the guy had listened! This sort of conversation never went over okay with Trevor.
“So-o-o-o, do you know where the Josephine S., um, is?” I avoided the word that had sparked off our first sort-of fight.
There was a long pause. Ralph was probably collecting himself. “Thank you,” he said.
I was mystified. “For what?”
“I don’t know. Not going on and on about it. Not making a big deal of something that is obviously important to you. Being kind.”
“You’re welcome. But do you know where the Josephine S. is berthed?”
We both laughed.
“No idea. Let’s drive around and look for it. It should be obvious, with the crane.”
Finally we found the boat, moored at a pier behind a yacht about half a kilometer to the east of the Express building. How ironic was that? It had been right under my nose all that time. Ralph pulled his car up onto the sidewalk, which I guessed was okay for a cop to do. The sound of waves and seagulls made me smile. What was with me today? Normally I would be noticing the garbage floating in the water and the smell of diesel from the boats’ engines. But no, here I was, enjoying kids, speaking my mind, and waxing poetical about the beauty of the landscape.
The Josephine S. was far smaller than I thought it would be, almost a tugboat in size. It looked a bit like a lobster fishing boat, except for the crane resting on the raised cabin that housed a steering wheel. This was probably what was called the cockpit. Agustin had painted the hull a cherry red and the boat’s name was scrolled along the bow in glittering gold letters outlined with a black border.
Ralph cupped his hands over his mouth and shouted in the general direction of the boat, “Agustin? Jimmy?’
For a minute there was no reply, and then a dark head of hair poked up through a hatch. “Yes?” Black eyes crinkled against the sun and the man shaded them with his hand as he looked around for the caller. “Yes?” he called again.
“Over here,” Ralph boomed through his hands. “We’d like to talk t
o Agustin Jimenez, or Jimmy.”
“Be right with you.” Jimmy scrambled up through the hatch and with sure and practiced steps, fox-trotted down the wooden plank that led from the boat to the shore. He stood in front of us and said, “What’s up, amigo? I’d shake your hands but I’ve been working on the engine. It’s running a little rough.”
He held out his tanned hands as proof and I could see his fingernails were encrusted in oil. I could also see that he was missing a thumb and a forefinger on his right hand. Jimmy saw me looking at it and smiled good-naturedly, “Caught in a winch when I was eighteen. Won’t do that again,” he laughed.
Jimmy didn’t have a trace of a Spanish accent, although he certainly had a wiry Mediterranean build. He was wearing a pair of cut-offs that had a fringe of frayed white threads that brushed his knobby, olive-skinned knees. Although he looked a bit tattered, the unmistakable scent of fabric softener came off his freshly laundered clothes. He didn’t look like a murderer to me, but what did I know?
“You must be left-handed then, seeing what sort of work you do,” I observed.
“I am now,” he chuckled. “I was born right-handed, but after the winch attacked me I switched over, mostly.
Ralph looked at me candidly. We both knew that there was no way this guy could have handled a tiny wasp or aimed a sniper’s rifle. But one never knew what he might know, so maybe it wouldn’t be a waste of a trip.
Ralph’s phone chimed out Mozart’s Requim. He looked at the caller ID and excused himself, strolling down to the end of the cement pier and turning his back while he talked. The call was short and when Ralph turned around a black scowl shadowed his features. He strode back to us with firm business-like steps. Gone was the easy-going fella I’d been travelling with.
Creston was now abrupt. “I understand that you were captain of the ship that put the pump in the middle of the lake for a cold water cooling system.”
His aggressive tone put Jimmy on the defensive. “I do a lot of crane jobs lifting up stuff for the bigger boats. Refresh my memory.” His sparkling brown eyes had flattened.
Creston taunted, “For a company called Everwave? Air conditioning for some large buildings in the city? Ring any bells?”
“Oh right. That was a hundred jobs ago. Last summer. It was a big operation involving welding and deck hands. Yes, I remember it.” He looked around, and added, “So what?”
Creston’s voice drilled through Jimmy’s feigned nonchalance. “Do you know a guy named Radcliffe? Or van Horner?”
Jimmy dropped his adversarial routine and smiled openly at the names. Friends? “Sure I do. Nice guys. In fact, they were here before the weekend, letting me know the system was finally up and running. They thanked me for helping on the project.”
Ha. England was so full of crap. He wanted me to believe Radcliffe and van Horner had come down to strong-arm this man into stealing water. I needed a better lie detector.
Jimmy’s happy nature prevailed as he thought back to the meeting. “Those guys? Love their jobs. But I think once the system was up and running, they’d be looking for their next project. So, about now. Or soon, anyway.”
Creston looked across the water. The news in the phone call was losing impact and he was relaxing. “You mean they were like partners? They worked together on other projects?”
“Yes. I think Radcliffe said something about them starting up an ice cream business. I was even thinking of participating. My wife loves ice cream.” Jimmy smiled indulgently. “Anyway, he and van Horner were drawing up the business plan and showed it to me. Proud of it. Why are you asking all these questions about them? Nice hard-working guys. Marriage troubles like most of us, but nothing serious.”
Ralph watched him attentively. “Both guys were murdered this week.”
Jimmy’s eyes opened wide in shock and he took a step back. He gestured wildly with his hands, clearly disturbed by the news. I could tell he wasn’t faking his response. This was a terrible surprise to him. “Who would murder them?” he cried. “Are you sure they were murdered? Both of them? But they were nice guys doing regular things.”
“That’s what I intend to find out.”
I looked from one man to the other. Both seemed to be questioning each other. At least I now knew what the call to Ralph had been about. It must have been Misener from the hospital, telling him that van Horner had died. How awful. Those poor kids. No wonder Ralph had become so serious.
Jimmy was peering into Creston’s face. “I have to ask you. Am I at risk here? I mean, I was associated with Everwave as well. Is someone going to come gunning for me?”
“I doubt it,” Creston bluffed. “I don’t think this had anything to do with you. It’s an international thing. Tell me about the marriage troubles.”
Jimmy looked away, reticent to speak ill of the dead.
Creston spoke kindly to him, “Listen, I need to find their killer or killers. You will be helping these two nice guys by telling me a bit about their problems, not tarnishing their memory.”
Jimmy came to a decision. “Well, Radcliffe said he was divorced, but I’m not sure he was. He kept getting calls from this one woman. Anyway, he was always going out on dates. He did that internet dating thing. A new person every week. And I don’t think he cared which way he went, if you catch my drift.”
I was mortified. I was one in a long list? And some of them were men? Plus, maybe he wasn’t divorced? I looked at Ralph. He didn’t seem to register the bisexual innuendo.
“And as for van Horner,” Jimmy continued, “I think he liked everyone, for a bit of fun, if you know what I mean. But don’t get me wrong. He loved his wife and kids. Always talking about his family.”
Ralph still hadn’t cottoned on to Jimmy’s hints. I needed Cindy’s take on all this. I knew nothing about the gay scene in Toronto. Not to mention gay men. Except for some interior decorators I had run into over the years. Bisexual men were way beyond my area of expertise.
Ralph seemed to have missed the gay angle completely. “And they were planning an ice cream business together?”
“I know it sounds like small potatoes, but these guys had big plans. Franchises. Did you ever notice how many ice cream joints have sprung up in the city? People are addicted to it. I know my wife loves it. All year long, too. After Friday dinner we pile into the car and get cones to celebrate the end of the week. These guys were going to capitalize on the trend.”
“You sound like a businessman yourself, Jimmy,” I said.
“I got a degree in marketing from Ryerson,” he said proudly, looking at me. “Fat lot of good it did me.” He laughed and looked at his blackened hands. “But I’m not doing too badly. I own a couple of houses and run this business here.” He gestured at the crane on the boat.
“And you employ Mexicans,” said Ralph.
“All legal,” Jimmy said righteously.
Creston changed tack. “Not my department. Did either man indicate that they wanted to use your services in the future? Did it sound like they needed your crane, for example? Did they mention anything like that?’
Jimmy scratched his ear. I wondered briefly if he had bed bugs and took a step back. It was a scourge in Toronto. “No. Why would they need a boat for ice cream?”
Creston’s phone rang again. He reached into his pocket while saying, “Thanks for your time, Agustin. We’ll stay in touch.” He pulled out the phone and started sauntering away. I followed, although I wasn’t sure I should. Did he need privacy?
“Creston.”
I could hear an electronic voice threading through the sound of stays clinking in the wind on some yachts at the pier.
“Thanks for letting me know, Sarah.” Sarah Clovelley was the Coroner.
He gawked at me, his eyes stunned, “You were right. Wasp venom.”
25.
“REALLY? WASP VENOM? I WAS RIGHT?” We were standing
at the end of the pier where Jimmy’s boat was docked.
“Seems so, smarty pants. This changes the case.” Ralph had recovered his better mood of the earlier morning and was smiling into my eyes with his lovely grey ones.
I was becoming hooked.
“What are you up to now?” I didn’t look down at his crotch to check.
He leaned over and brushed a tendril of hair out of my eyes. I caught my breath. “First, I’m going to walk over to that vendor up there and get some street meat. I’m starving. Next, I’m going to observe van Horner’s autopsy at the morgue and also speak to Sarah about Radcliffe’s death while I’m at it. She might have some solid ideas about when he was stung and where he was stung on his body. She’ll probably take another look, now that the toxicology report is in. If I know her, she’ll want to get it perfect. If there’s a tiny little hole anywhere in his skin, she’ll find it. That will help pinpoint where the wasp was located in his clothing, if it was, and from there we might deduce how it got where it was. We could perhaps determine if it was a murder or accidental.”
“I know it was murder,” I said with certainty. “Tell her to check his right hand. I think the wasp was put in his pocket. It’s the only thing that makes sense.”
We were heading towards the hot dog cart.
“I’m still not so sure,” said Ralph. “I initially thought that the temperature on the thermostat had been adjusted by the murderer to skew the time of death, but Sarah tells me that people who have been stung go first into shock and feel very cold. Todd probably turned that thermostat up himself.”
Well, there went that clue. But still, how could it not be murder? Especially now with van Horner’s death. Two men who worked together are now both dead? I didn’t believe in coincidence.
And I said that to Ralph. “I read somewhere that there’s no such thing as coincidence.”
“Probably in a Grisham novel,” Ralph laughed. “And speaking of coincidence, that old white van you saw outside van Horner’s belonged to a gardener. When we interviewed him he said it backfired all the time. That backfiring you heard was just coincidental. The bullet in van Horner’s shoulder came from a silenced rifle.” He nodded at me and added for clarification, “Ballistics report.”