Cold Comfort

by Scott Mackay

  Gilbert felt his blood quickening. “So Latham’s still in the running?” he said.

  Lombardo shrugged. “I guess so.”

  Gord and Diane Danby, Donna Varley’s downstairs neighbors on Crawford Street, returned from their Florida vacation Sunday afternoon. Bob Bannatyne and Gilbert interviewed them that evening.

  “She was shot on the fifth,” said Bannatyne. “I know I’ve already gone over this with you, but we want to go over it again. You left for your vacation on the sixth. The body was discovered by your friend, Natalie Carels, when she came over on the evening of the seventh to water your plants and collect your mail. I took your statement over the phone on the seventh.” Bannatyne glanced down at his notes. “I just want to make sure we have this all straight.”

  Gord and Diane nodded. “We called up the stairs on the morning of the sixth to say good-bye,” said Diane. “Not that we knew her that well. She stayed to herself most of the time. We got no answer so we just thought she was out.”

  Gord spoke up. “To tell you the truth, we were a little nervous about leaving her here,” said Gord. “There’s no private entrance. Not that we have a lot of valuables, but, you know, she didn’t look…she really wasn’t our kind of person. We have a lock on our living room door, and we put a lot of stuff in there.”

  Bannatyne nodded. “I hope I didn’t ruin your vacation,” he said.

  Diane glanced out the window at the snow, which was coming down steadily. “I don’t know if I want to live here now,” she said forlornly.

  Bannatyne sighed sympathetically. “I know what you mean,” he said. “Murder can really wreck a place.”

  Gord put his hand on Diane’s arm. “It’s all right,” he said.

  “Who gave the statement?” asked Gilbert. He turned to Bannatyne. “Or did they both give a statement?”

  “I gave the statement,” said Diane. “Gord was on a fishing charter.”

  “So let’s just go over it for Detective Gilbert’s sake,” said Bannatyne. He looked at Diane. “On the evening of the fifth you stayed late at the office because you wanted to finish all your outstanding work before you went on vacation.” Diane nodded. Bannatyne turned to Gilbert. “We verified that. She was there. The security guard saw her and so did one of the dictaphone typists. Gord, you were here all night except for that hour you had to go to your travel agent to make some last-minute changes in your plans. That was from about eight-thirty to nine-thirty. Correct?”

  Gord nodded. “Correct.”

  “And when you left, Donna’s TV was on, and when you came back, Donna’s TV was off.”

  “That’s right.”

  He turned to Gilbert. “We had officers in Florida check for residue on Gord’s hands. He was clean. And we checked with his travel agent. He was there. We figure the murder took place in the hour he was away.”

  Gilbert nodded. “Okay.”

  Bannatyne looked at Diane. “Diane, you told me Larry Varley stayed with Donna in November, was away for December, and came back in January.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you never heard them fighting.”

  “No.”

  “And Donna never said anything that would lead you to believe that there was any friction between them.”

  “Other than telling us he was her brother, she didn’t say anything about him. They seemed to get along. They were quiet. They watched a lot of TV.”

  Gilbert interrupted. He looked at Gord. “You said you had to go to your travel agent on the evening of the fifth. What kind of change did you have to make?”

  Gord Danby looked at him, his eyes narrowing. “Not really a change, actually. We won some concert tickets. At least that’s what they said. When I got there, no one knew what I was talking about.”

  Gilbert and Bannatyne looked at each other. Then Bannatyne turned to Diane. “That wasn’t in your statement,” he said.

  A knit came to her brow. “I guess I forgot about it,” she said. “Is it important?”

  Gilbert looked at Gord. “Was it just a mix-up?”

  “That’s what they said,” replied Gord. “They have two new guys working there.”

  “But did you verify it?” asked Gilbert.

  “I was in Florida the next day,” said Gord. “It was the farthest thing from my mind.”

  “So it wasn’t your regular travel agent who phoned you then?” asked Gilbert.

  “No.”

  “Who was it?”

  “I guess one of the new guys.”

  Gilbert glanced at Bannatyne. Get the Danbys out of the house. Use the concert tickets as a pretext. Kill Donna Varley, no witnesses. He turned back to Gord.

  “If I played you a tape, would you be able to recognize the man’s voice?” said Gilbert.

  Gord nodded tentatively. “I think so,” he said.

  When Gilbert and Bannatyne were out in the car together, Gilbert took a manila folder out of his accordion-style briefcase.

  “That was good, Barry,” said Bannatyne. Bannatyne started the car and turned the heat on full. “It’s colder than a pig’s tit,” he said. “I’m glad I’m in the Bahamas this Friday.”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk to you about that,” said Gilbert. He reached up and flicked on the overhead light. “You’re going to be in Freeport?”

  “I already told you,” said Bannatyne. “The place is called Pimento Beach. A little resort about eight miles up the coast from Freeport.”

  Gilbert opened the file folder. “I’m just wondering…” Some photographs fell on the floor and he picked them up. “These are shots from Cheryl’s funeral. All our major suspects. Latham, Matchett, Danny, Sally. Here’s Tom Webb and his secretary, Jane Ireland, too, just in case. You can pull Larry’s photo from Donna’s file. Do you plan on going into Freeport at all?”

  Bannatyne was looking at him suspiciously now. “What the hell are you getting at?”

  Gilbert showed Bannatyne photocopies of the bank statements he found in the birdcage and outlined how they might be related to the Latham case.

  “I’m just wondering if you can check this out when you’re down there.”

  “You mean like do actual police work while I’m on vacation?”

  He was being facetious.

  “Yeah,” said Gilbert.

  Bannatyne looked through the photographs then studied the bank statements. “That’s a pile of loot,” he said.

  “Maybe you might buy one of the bank employees a drink. Ling’s okayed some expediency money for the Latham case. Maybe one of the employees might be able to see around the confidentiality rules.”

  Bannatyne nodded. “Show the employee the photographs, see if he or she recognizes any of them.” Bannatyne looked skeptical. “It’s a bit of a long shot, Barry.”

  “Maybe not. Webb goes down to the Bahamas regularly. He has a huge catamaran down there. And Latham has this place, Scuba-Tex. They have an outlet down there.”

  Bannatyne again looked at the photographs. “I don’t know,” he said. “They probably have an agent banking for them.”

  “Maybe,” said Gilbert. “But even that might yield some information.”

  Monday morning. Like Antarctica outside, with wind and snow and killing temperatures, the coldest March 3 on record. But inside the new building they had the heat way up. The detectives, officers, and secretaries fanned themselves with whatever paper, folder, or envelope came to hand. Some rolled up shirtsleeves and loosened neckties. Lombardo’s turn for coffee. Gilbert was reading a small story on page five by Ronald Roffey, how the Cheryl Latham case had stalled. He felt his mood diving. Lombardo came in with a couple of extra-large cappuccinos.

  “Roffey always makes Monday morning so enjoyable,” said Gilbert.

  “Christ, do you believe this?” said Lombardo, looking out the window as he took his scarf off. “March third, for Christ’s sake.”

  “You and Valerie had a nice time last night?”

  “She hates this weather.”

 
“Is Frankfurt so much warmer?”

  “March third in Frankfurt you at least have crocuses. Look at that snow.” Lombardo shrugged hopefully. “Maybe they’ll have to cancel her flight tomorrow.”

  “They can fly planes through snow, Lombardo.”

  “What about ice on the wings?”

  “It’s supposed to thaw tomorrow.”

  Lombardo shook his head. “God, I’m going to miss her. This is ridiculous, isn’t it? She’s a nineteen-year-old kid.”

  Gilbert grinned as he took his cappuccino from the tray. “So that makes you about two years younger.”

  “No, I’m serious Barry. I’m going to take a week this July and go to Piedmont. I’m going to drive up and visit her. Her folks own a pig farm.”

  “So you’ll be right at home.”

  Lombardo laughed. “A little Roffey goes a long way with you.”

  “I’ll be bitter for the rest of the week,” he said.

  Lombardo shook his head, his eyes growing meditative. “I don’t know,” he said. “I have a feeling we’re going to solve it this week.”

  “Here comes your Gypsy blood,” said Gilbert. “We’ll have Building Services put up a special shelf for your crystal ball.”

  “I don’t use a crystal ball,” said Lombardo. “I use tarot cards. More murders are solved using tarot cards.” He looked at Gilbert quizzically. “I thought you knew.”

  Carol Reid came down the aisle to his desk, weaving her way around the modular office furniture. She cast an anxious glance toward Marsh’s private office. She had a piece of paper in her hand.

  “I thought you’d better see this,” she said, addressing Lombardo. “Don’t let Marsh know. He’d have my gizzard.”

  She handed the piece of paper to Joe.

  “What is it?” asked Gilbert.

  “It’s Bill’s proposed discharge list,” said Carol. “He’s got to send it to Ling to get the okay for his layoffs.”

  Gilbert looked at Lombardo. Lombardo’s brow settled and his lips squeezed together in a thin line. His dark eyes seemed to glitter like the edge of a sharp knife as he went over the list a second time.

  “Shit!” he said. He tossed the list on Gilbert’s desk. “What an asshole.” He pounded the top of the filing cabinet with his fist. “I could name ten detectives who don’t do half the work I do.”

  Gilbert scanned the list quickly. And suddenly, solving Cheryl Latham’s murder took on an even greater urgency. Lombardo’s name was right at the top. He glanced at Carol. She was staring at Joe with motherly commiseration. Lombardo walked to the window, raised his elbow against the frame, and looked out at the police courtyard below, where there was another strange statue, a policewoman laying bricks with a mason’s trowel. Lombardo was wrapped in lethal silence.

  “Don’t worry, Joe,” he said. “I’ll take it to Ling personally if I have to.” The phone rang. “We’ll have to work round the clock on this Latham case. If we get a collar by the end of the week, I’ll have something to take to Ling.”

  He lifted the phone. “Homicide, Detective Gilbert,” he said.

  The voice on the other end of the line asked for Joe.

  “It’s for you,” he said, handing the phone to Lombardo.

  Lombardo pressed the receiver to his ear. “Lombardo here,” he said.

  Carol stepped forward and lifted the list from Gilbert’s desk. “I think I better get rid of this before Marsh walks by,” she said.

  “Thanks, Carol.”

  She gave Gilbert a conspiratorial nod and left.

  He looked up at Joe. The murderous look had disappeared from the young detective’s eyes, and if his brow hadn’t yet lifted, he at least had the beginnings of a grin on his face.

  “Molto grazie, signore,” he said to the obviously Italian person on the other end of the line. “Lei è molto gentile.”

  He put the receiver down.

  “Who was that?” said Gilbert.

  Lombardo’s grin was getting broader. “The clerk from the legislative carpool,” he said. “He checked the records for the eighteenth.” Lombardo jangled his keys in his pocket. “The only person who took out a Crown Victoria on the night of the eighteenth was Jane Ireland.”

  Fourteen

  Gilbert met Matchett for lunch that day in a small Indian Restaurant, the Raj-Shala, on Baldwin street, just behind Mount Sinai Hospital. They loaded their plates with biryani, bindi bhaji, raita, and chicken tandoori at the all-you-can-eat buffet, ordered a couple of Heinekens, and found a secluded booth at the back in the smoking section under a small brass statue of Shiva. The place was crowded with nurses and doctors. The walls were papered with red velveteen wallpaper, and sitar music filtered from small speakers up in the corner.

  “I can tell by the look in your eyes that this isn’t a friendly get-together,” said Matchett.

  Gilbert lifted a chapati and broke it in half. “Here comes our Nan bread,” he said. “They really make it…some of the other places, they use too much oil. But here they…”

  The waiter made a space on the table, put the plate of Nan bread down, looked inquiringly at their Heinekens, saw that both were full, filled up their water glasses, and retreated to the kitchen.

  “More about Cheryl,” said Matchett. “Am I right?”

  A disingenuous grin came to Gilbert’s face. “Would you mind?”

  “As long as you’re not here to cuff me.”

  Gilbert laughed. “Would I buy you lunch only to cuff you? I’m not that generous.”

  “Look, if it’s about my gun, I’ve reported it. A Detective Spauls is looking into it. Do you know him?”

  “Graham? Sure I know him. He’s a good man. If anyone can find your gun, he can.” Gilbert leaned forward and took a sip of his beer. “No, I just…” A waiter walked by with a tray of milk sweets. “I’m not sure you’re going to like this line of enquiry.”

  “I just want to get to the bottom of this, Barry. I hate this. Being a suspect. I just want my name cleared.”

  “Actually, I wanted to talk about Jane, if you don’t mind.”

  “Jane?” he said. “Jane Ireland?”

  Gilbert nodded. “I mean if you’d rather…we’re just looking… you said she took it hard when you and Cheryl…you know…”

  His old partner glanced up at the statue of Shiva, his eyes suddenly apprehensive, and he rubbed his hands together, as if they’d grown cold. Then he turned to Gilbert and he looked like he was on the brink of saying something but at the last moment decided against it.

  “Obviously you have something that implicates Jane, or you wouldn’t be…” He lifted his hand to his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, squinting. “Jane’s a kind, gracious, thoughtful…I really don’t think…and, yes, she took it hard, but I don’t think she snapped. I don’t think she took it to the extreme you’re suggesting.”

  Gilbert stared at his friend and took a deep breath. “Alvin, we’ve always been honest with each other. We’ve trusted each other. We weren’t only partners, we were friends. And still are, I hope. I know it’s been a long time, and we both might have changed, but I still think I know you well enough…and I might be getting this wrong…but something’s not…I have this feeling—”

  “Barry, I don’t think Jane killed Cheryl. Didn’t you tell me the body was muscled down the stairs and out the laundry room window at the Glenarden, then across the parking lot and into the trunk of a car? Do you think a woman could do that, especially when the body was wrapped up in that carpet?”

  Gilbert shrugged. “Jane can bench-press upwards of two-hundred-and-fifty pounds. She spends an hour every evening weight training. That’s what you told me.”

  Matchett stared at Gilbert. He looked like a man who had just been checkmated. “I guess…”

  “Alvin, you were serious with Jane, weren’t you?”

  He looked to one side, his lips twisting. “Cheryl was a mistake,” he said.

  “You loved Jane,
you probably still do, and if Cheryl hadn’t come along you might have been back together with Jane by this time.”

  “Cheryl was just something I had to go through,” said Matchett. “I got caught up in it, that’s all.”

  “You were drifting away from Jane since June, living half the time at her place and the other half at yours.” Gilbert lifted his chin, studying the minutiae of Matchett’s expression. “And maybe she lived some of the time over at your place.”

  “You’re right, I don’t like this line of enquiry.”

  “Alvin, we know she has a key.”

  Matchett’s eyes narrowed. “She hasn’t got a key.”

  “You aren’t helping her by saying that. We have other evidence that implicates her, I’m not at liberty to say what, but we do. You know what it’s like, Alvin, you were a cop. This is staring me right in the face. No forced entry. She knew you had a gun. She knew where to look for that gun. I’ve already asked at your gun club. They’ve seen her up at the range.”

  “Yes, but she doesn’t know the first thing about guns.”

  “What do you have to know? You pull the trigger. You don’t need a physics degree. Help me out, Alvin.”

  Matchett looked up at the statue of Shiva. “I know what you’re doing, Barry.” He turned away from the statue and stared at Gilbert. “You’re trying to get enough probable cause for the duty judge.”

  Gilbert sighed. He was still trying to protect her, and that could mean charges.

  “I have probable cause already, Alvin. I can take what I have to Corning or Wolfe, or any of those guys, and I’ll have my search warrant.”

  “What difference does it make whether she has a key or not?”

  “Because if it turns out she does, and you’re trying to hide it from me, I’ll have to arrest you for obstruction. You see what I’m doing, Alvin? I’m trying to protect you, the same way you’re trying to protect Jane. I’m looking out for you, the same way I did on patrol. I know what you went through with the Dennison thing. I don’t want you to go through that again. But if it turns out you’re obstructing on this murder charge, you might as well say good-bye to…you know, your job and everything else.”