The Devil's in the Details

by Mary Jane Maffini

  “This wasn’t the story I had in mind.”

  “Yeah, but fugitives from the law can’t be choosers. Oh, wow, look at that.”

  “What now?”

  “Two of your sisters just pulled up. Man, do they look dangerous.”

  “How did they find out? Is this on the news or something?”

  “Someone on the force must have let your brother-in-law know.”

  “Is Conn with them?”

  “Yeah. Ow. He doesn’t look happy.”

  “I can understand that. Are all the cops still there?”

  “Of course.”

  “Damn.”

  “So are you going to tell me where you are?”

  “Not likely, P.J.”

  Elaine was bubbling when she picked up. Her appointment must have gone well.

  “Elaine? Don’t talk, and don’t get mad. This is an emergency, and I need your help.”

  “May I at least know how and why?”

  “How, yes. Why, no. You’re better off not knowing.”

  “But . . .”

  “The police are involved.”

  Elaine hates the police. Sometimes that’s a bad thing. Sometimes it’s a good thing. This time, it worked in my favour.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “I need you to check out my apartment building to see if the police are still staking out the building. Check my floor too. Pretend to be visiting me, maybe. And if the coast is clear, I need you to call me back and tell me.”

  “The police have your apartment staked out?

  “Yes. We might need a slight diversion.”

  “Consider them diverted.”

  “And bring those snapshots. I’ll find you in the parking lot.”

  I counted on Elaine taking fifteen minutes, not including diversion. That gave me time to find something to wear in Mrs. Parnell’s closet. Mrs. Parnell is about twenty pounds thinner than I am, six inches taller, and forty-five years older. Her feet are size ten, mine are a six. She puts her money into music and hi-tech gadgets instead of duds. Aside from that, no problem.

  Eventually, I found the Tilley hat I’d given her for Christmas and a London Fog short trench coat possibly from the sixties. I kept the Ray-Bans. It was kind of fun. I always loved dressing up as a kid. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much I could do to hide Gussie, but I figured we could still slip away in whatever confusion Elaine would generate. Just in case, I hit the kitchen, found some flour and sprinkled it on Gussie’s coat. I wasn’t sure what was more surprising: that Gussie looked like a different dog or that Mrs. Parnell actually had flour.

  I was pretty well ready to go when the fire alarm went off.

  Elaine was splendid in a lime-green tailored shirt, with matching capri pants. She had long, green, pointed slingbacks on her feet. Her hair was in some kind of updated French twist. She seemed quite elated, which gave her complexion a nice boost. Alvin would say she rocked.

  I held on tightly as she took the corner at 80 kph. Gussie let out a yelp. A couple of tourists jumped for cover.

  “Thanks, Elaine. Although you can get charged for pulling a false alarm. There are a lot of seniors in that building. Someone could have panicked and had a heart attack.”

  “You wanted a diversion, you got a diversion. Stop bitching and tell me what’s going on.”

  “I can’t. If I did you’d be aiding and abetting a fugitive.”

  “Are you a fugitive?”

  “If I said yes, then you’d be aiding and abetting a...”

  “That can’t be good, if you’re a lawyer. Can they charge you with avoiding arrest?”

  “Yes, if they can prove I knew I was going to be charged.”

  “So now you’re officially on the lam. Not that I’m aware of that.” This is the kind of stuff that makes Elaine truly happy. More than, say, a long drive in the country.

  “Being on the lam is not the official name of anything in the Criminal Code of Canada.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I have a pretty good defence for the avoiding part. What with the head injuries and all. Brain damage. My Emerg doctor will back me up.”

  “Right. A judge should be sympathetic.”

  “Depends on the judge, considering the seriousness of the allegations.”

  “Holy moly. What are they?”

  “I still have to find out what’s going on. Maybe you can follow the news and see what information they’ve released. In the meantime, I need to get my cash card back. And I have another little task for you. Feel like providing another diversion for me, no fire alarms this time?”

  “Diversion is my middle name.”

  “I’m glad you have that nice outfit on. Head for the City parking garage, the indoor one in the market. We have to leave Gussie in the car for about twenty minutes. It will be cool enough in the underground parking for him.”

  “Will this be fun?”

  “Count on it.”

  Inside Maisie’s, the mood was typical, right down to the miserably elegant Norine, yattering into a small silver cellphone. We’d picked the late afternoon dead zone, too late for lunch and too early for dinner, so I didn’t spot any servers buzzing about. Of course, Chelsea was dead and Jasmine was grieving.

  “I left my cash card here last night,” I said without any preamble.

  “You didn’t,” Norine said.

  “I did.”

  “We haven’t found any cash cards.”

  “Wouldn’t you have to look to know that?”

  “My staff are all trained to return them.” She curled her collagen-enhanced lip.

  “And yet, I left here without my card last night. How odd.”

  “Perhaps you left it elsewhere.” The lip curl mutated to a smirk.

  “I definitely left it here.” I resisted the urge to smack the smirk, since that would be assault and battery.

  “You probably left it in an ATM.” Her eyes slid away from me.

  I knew from my time as a defence lawyer that eyes sliding away means someone’s lying her arse off.

  I smiled. “I used my card here, and I didn’t have it when I left, and you deliberately ignored me when I tried to get it back last night.”

  “We get so many people here. Some are more memorable than others.”

  “I’m guessing not that many pound on your door after hours.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell.”

  “Rang enough of a bell for you to call the police.”

  “You’ll have to excuse me. I have people to seat.” She nodded in the direction of Elaine, the only person in the restaurant. Elaine was lounging near the door, examining the specials menu intently.

  “Dinner for one, madame? Or would you like to see the luncheon menu?” she said.

  Elaine rose to her full splendid green height. “I’m just checking the facility for a special occasion.”

  “Oh?”

  Elaine strode over and shook the manager’s hand very, very firmly. “I represent a number of influential women’s groups in town, and we are looking for the perfect venue for a big ticket fundraising occasion.”

  “Hang on,” I said. “I was here first, and I don’t think we have attended to this matter of my card.”

  “As you know, large groups of women can be pretty hard to please,” Elaine said. “It’s important to pick the right ambiance.”

  “Your group will not be disappointed in Maisie’s. I guarantee it.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard. But I need to be sure.”

  “Excuse me, ladies. But I wasn’t finished. And I don’t have all day,” I said.

  “I’d like a look at the regular menu,” Elaine said. “This might not be the right place for us after all. You can’t be too careful.” She managed to convey the impression that she was about to bolt.

  Norine flashed me an evil look. “I’m going to ask you to leave.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I’ll call the police.”

  “Go ahead, since I
plan to call them myself. Card theft.”

  Elaine glanced at her watch. “I’m almost out of time. Would it be possible to talk privately about this?”

  “Please leave the premises,” Norine managed to hiss in my direction.

  “Fine,” I said, turning toward the door. “I’ll take legal steps.”

  Elaine was enjoying her role. “May I see the rest of the dining areas? We are seeking an intimate yet effective atmosphere, and it will be important to have good sound. How are your acoustics?”

  “They’re excellent.”

  “I understand you have a courtyard as well? Could we have an outdoor event if the weather holds?”

  “Yes, we’ll head over there now, shall we?” Norine glanced in my direction, and I flipped her the bird as I passed through the door.

  Seconds after Elaine and Norine turned the corner, I ducked back in, slipped behind the desk and grabbed the reservation book. I wouldn’t have more than a couple of minutes to find Bianca.

  Luck was with me.

  There was at least one Bianca who came to Maisie’s often. For lunch and dinner. I found a phone number with the familiar Federal Government 9. I copied down the number quickly and rustled through the pile of papers, business cards, credit card slips etc.

  I lifted the VISA machine.

  Bingo. My cash card.

  Finding the card was the good news. The bad news was the flash of roof lights I spotted through the window. There was no way to make eye contact with Elaine. The front door opened just as I slipped into the cloakroom and pressed myself against the wall. If the cops stopped to check, I would have been toast, since there weren’t any coats.

  I spotted the uniforms heading by and heard an unfamiliar female voice say, “Police.” Looked like Norine had managed to call the cops after all. Elaine must have been losing her touch, if she’d let that happen.

  I peered around the corner in time to see two female officers heading toward the far end of the restaurant. I moved as fast as my head would let me, out of the cloakroom and through the door. I’m surprised they didn’t hear my heart pounding.

  Another cruiser was edging traffic out of the way and heading up Dalhousie with two wheels on the sidewalk and two wheels on the road. And I saw what look like the red flash of more roof lights speeding along Clarence.

  Sheesh. Bonnie and Clyde probably didn’t get that much attention.

  Twenty-Seven

  In retrospect, I should have taken my chance with the cops. However, my first stop was an ATM, where I scored two hundred dollars. I didn’t know how long I’d be away from home. Second stop, a souvenir store in the Market, where I bought a white baseball cap with a vaguely neon maple leaf. I selected a red T-shirt with the purple outline of a large tulip. Inside the tulip, it read OTTAWA. I couldn’t believe my good fortune when I found a large backpack decorated with a Mountie on horseback. I added a small Canada flag and a disposable camera. I finished off my new look with a pair of cheap sunglasses with red lenses. A quick trip to the nearby McDonald’s to change in a bathroom cubicle and, poof, the old Camilla was gone. I put my own backpack inside the new one along with Mrs. Parnell’s hat and coat and my Ray-Bans. I headed back into the Market crowds, proud of myself for not losing consciousness. In addition to a disguise, I now had enough change to make phone calls.

  It took everything I had not to wobble as I passed a constable leaning against a parked Ottawa police cruiser outside. My father always used to say, the best defence is a good offence. I grinned and waved my flag at him. “Hey, you one of them Mounties?”

  “Sure am, ma’am,” he lied.

  I said, “Cool,” and moseyed off, like any dumbass tourist without a double-decker warrant out for her arrest.

  Five minutes later, I was in the parking lot, looking for Gussie.

  I staggered around, confused by my fuzzy head but also by the large number of black Pathfinders parked in the garage. I had no idea what Elaine’s license number was. The only thing I knew about the Pathfinder was that it was dusty and had a large dog in it.

  Faced with a couple of Pathfinders in close proximity, I yelled “Gussie.” A shaggy head popped up two Pathfinders down. Good. Now to get into the vehicle.

  Elaine misplaced her keys an average of once a week, and she’s always in a hurry. There had to be an emergency magnetic keyholder somewhere on the vehicle. They’d be in a place she could reach without getting her clothes dirty before whatever meeting she was late for.

  I didn’t have to test this theory, because Elaine hadn’t locked the door. I hopped in and scrawled a note for her using an eyeliner I found on the floor by the accelerator and the back of a napkin which had been wedged between the seats. Elaine had lots of useful stuff in her vehicle.

  Gussie was happy to see me and happier to get out of the Pathfinder. I figured the inside would air out in time. I hoped large lopsided smelly dog wasn’t part of my police description.

  Fortunately, you can find a pay phone without walking too far in the market. Youssef picked up first ring. Unfortunately, he wasn’t on duty, but his cousin Akbar could take me, unless I had some objection. Did Akbar have an objection to dogs in the cab, I inquired.

  “Is your dog smelly?” Youssef said.

  “Not in the least.” Of course, as the famous line went, he was not my dog.

  My head and various body parts had begun to throb, ache and otherwise misbehave. My painkillers were inconveniently located in my apartment, surrounded by police. I used the waiting time to think. I needed a place with a phone, a radio and a vial of Tylenol 3. The sky was not the limit.

  Home was out of the question. Mrs. Parnell’s place was too close for comfort. So was Elaine’s place. By now, the police would have spoken to her. She would be in the position of harbouring a known fugitive if she did anything for me. Extended sick leave notwithstanding, Mombourquette would have to nab me if he was within arresting distance.

  On the upside, two of my sisters had arrived back from the cottage, that meant one of them had probably stayed at the cottage. History told me they’d stay in town for dinner at one house or the other. They’d expect me to take the honourable road, turn myself over to the police and let justice take its course. It wouldn’t cross their respectable minds a MacPhee could be convicted of anything. But I knew the system. I’d be heaved into a cell until things got sorted out. If P.J. was right, and the warrant was for two murders, the Crown would oppose bail, and any judge I’d pissed off in the past would concur with pleasure. Maybe any judge, period. There were lingering resentments toward me in the Office of the Crown Prosecutor as well as within the police, so they’d all have fun.

  But they’d have to find me first.

  If I could figure out which sister had stayed at the cottage, I could hide out at her place. Or I could turn to P.J. He might take the risk to help me in return for an exclusive “lawyer on the run” story, but he wasn’t answering his phone. Anyway, I had reason to believe he’d recently moved back into his old bedroom at his mom’s place.

  I needed to sleep for a couple of hours, just long enough to be able to think clearly. But my goal wasn’t to remain on the run. My goal was to learn who Laura had really been. I had to ferret out who had killed her and Chelsea. And likely Frances Foxall and Sylvie Dumais. The same person had done an excellent job of framing me. I was awfully glad the police hadn’t made the connection between Frances and Sylvie and the other two deaths. I might be on the hook for four murders. Before they did, I needed to track down this Bianca and also to find Jasmine and talk to her, for her own safety as much as anything. Hell, I needed a telephone even more than I needed a bed.

  Hotels ask for a credit card before you check in, and I figured the police would have them covered. I was missing something, but what?

  It took me long enough to remember I had the keys to Laura’s home. The will hadn’t been through probate yet, but it would be my property. There was a phone, Tylenol in the bathroom cabinet, and a good bed.


  Youssef’s cousin, Akbar, when he arrived, was not happy about Gussie.

  “Too big,” he said. “Not in my cab.”

  “It’s Youssef’s cab, and he said it was all right.” I opened the door and pushed Gussie in ahead of me. I practically fell in after him and slammed the door closed. “The Glebe please. Third Avenue.”

  He opened his mouth.

  “Don’t argue. I’m sick. It’s only a ten minute drive. Go. Otherwise you’ll have to throw us out.”

  He took a minute to assess that option. When he finally edged back into the packed traffic in the Market, we passed several cruisers.

  “This is hijacking. I could call the police,” he said.

  “Go right ahead. I’m a lawyer. I love to sue.”

  “What number Third,” he said after a pause.

  “I’ll know it when I see it.”

  We cruised down the blocks slowly. My head was full of twinkling sparks, my eyes were swimming. Laura’s beautiful little house slowly hove into view. I squinted around. Across the street was a black car with a little red light on top, the telltale sign of the police undercover vehicle.

  “Looks like my friend is not home. Head over to Hull.”

  “Hull? Look, lady, another five minutes with that dog in the car, and I’ll be dead. You can sue my widow.”

  “Point taken. Time to clear the air.” I reached into the front and gently dropped forty dollars onto the passenger seat. I didn’t mention that the last person I’d bribed was lying in the morgue.

  Akbar let me off two blocks from my destination, which suited both of us. Lucky for me, since Alvin locks his doors, he now lives in the basement apartment of a converted house in the old part of Hull. Lucky for me, it has rickety old windows. Gussie and I managed to squeeze in the first window and drop to the floor. Of course, there were good reasons why Alvin’s place hadn’t been on my list of desirable hideouts. It’s always best to brace yourself before you cross his threshhold or fall through his window.

  I landed with a thump that gave me a few more stars. Gussie yelped as he followed. I yelped myself when I heard a voice. “Lord thundering Jesus, it’s Camilla. What kind of an outfit is that? Canadian Crazy?”