Sinister Justice

by Steve Pickens

  “So Dorval suspects you, but had you keep it from the papers as to what happened?”

  “No, Adam had me keep it from the papers. And I did so as a favor to a friend.” he sighed. “Poor Mom. She’s had a complete breakdown. She’s gone somewhere to rest. She refuses to set foot in that house again. I can’t say I blame her much for that.”

  “Somewhere? You mean like an asylum?”

  “They don’t call it that when you’re wealthy,” Alex said. “It’s called a ‘private hospital’ and you go there for ‘a rest’ which usually means drying out from booze or pills, but in some cases means going there when your mind has gone boing from seeing your husband baked in an oven.”

  “Alex,” Sam said. “Your choice of words—”

  “Oh, I can’t help it Sam. My father was a bastard, and there was something very poetic about it. Totally insane, mind you, but poetic nonetheless.”

  “Poetic or not, these aren’t random killings,” Jake said. “He told you that.”

  “About the Grimm’s Fairy Tales? Oh, yes. Adam thinks you’re quite smart for figuring that one out. Although it puts him in a rather awkward position.”

  “He likely has to put Jake down on the list of suspects,” Sam said.

  “Me? I just want this creep caught,” said Jake a little too loudly. People looked up in surprise.

  “Easy, Tiger,” said Sam. “You’re making the natives restless.”

  “And be warned, Marion Burd has hearing like a bat.”

  “Sam figured her for a suspect.”

  “For Reed and Leona, maybe, but what is the connection to my father?”

  “Oh come on, Alex,” said Jake. “Everyone heard you at the meeting. You all but named your father as being the one in collusion with Reed on the SuperLoMart deal and Wilde Park.”

  “Ah, well, yes. There was that. Reed’s personal papers will be a sight to behold. A few years back, the old plywood mill burned down, after it had just about been run into the ground. Reed was a major stockholder in that, and so was my father. I always suspected the two of them being in on that. I’m sure there are a lot more skeletons.”

  “You think that was why he was targeted? Because of his connection to Longhoffer?”

  “I suspect that is part of it. Although from the killer’s perspective, I’d have thought once Reed Longhoffer was dead, that would have been the end of it. There has to be something else, some other criteria the killer is using to target his victims.”

  Flummoxed, the three of them sat in the quiet, enjoying the sight of the Chinook. Jake was looking forward to seeing the completed ship. Someone had raised the American flag at the stern and the signal flags spelling out “Chinook” behind her mast. At the top of her mast, Jake was pleased to see three flags flying—the Blackburn Transportation house flag, Black Ball flag and the original B.C. Ferries flag with the dogwood blossom in the center. He knew Alex’s eye for detail would not have let that particular element slip by. The sun broke out from the clouds at that moment, illuminating the vast white flank of the ship. She sparkled in the light, looking more like a living being than a cold piece of steel.

  “Wonderful vessel, Mr. Blackburn!” Professor Mills enthused, sidling up to the three men. “I remember seeing her when I was just a young man down at Colman Dock. Lovely little ship.”

  “Did you know Gibbs, Professor?” Sam asked.

  “Not personally, no,” Professor Mills said. “But ah, the man could design ships. In fact…”

  A beeping came from Professor Mills’ watch. He looked at it, frowning deeply.

  “Everything okay, Professor?”

  “Oh bah, it’s nothing. Just a reminder to take my…well, I certainly don’t need to worry about that anymore. Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me please?”

  Professor Mills drifted away, replaced a moment later by Marion Burd, and Alex politely excused himself. The crowds were beginning to disperse as the main show was over for the day. Jake and Sam decided to head back to Sutherland Shipyards to pick up Sam’s car. As Jake drove back to the shipyard, the first fat splats of rain smacked the windshield.

  “At least it held off until the ceremony was just about over,” said Sam, looking at his commemorative ornament in the shape of the Chinook.

  “Lunch?”

  “How about the Bitter End?”

  “Sounds good. We can pick up your car afterward.”

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Tuesday afternoon wasn’t busy for the Bitter End, the lunch crowd already having come and gone. Jake and Sam were happy to find their usual table unoccupied. They ordered Pepsis and looked over the menu. Maddy Ferguson, the bartender who worked the shift before Caleb, brought them their sodas.

  “What’ll it be, fellas?”

  “Well,” said Jake, looking over the menu. “Nothing with turkey in it since we’re just over two weeks away from the usual Thanksgiving turkey glut. In which case, I want something good and loaded with red meat, so I’ll take the double bacon cheeseburger with fries, a side salad…what’s the soup today?”

  “Beef barley.”

  “And a cup of soup.”

  “And for Mr. O’Conner today?”

  “Grilled chicken and Swiss with a salad please, served with the sandwich if that is okay,” said Sam. “And has Caleb made a move yet?”

  Maddy nodded. “Just yesterday. Said something about it giving you fits for a while.”

  “Do you mind?” Sam asked Jake.

  “No, go ahead, but you better be back when your meal arrives.”

  “You’ll have to eat your soup and salad long before that,” said Sam, moving over to the chessboard.

  “Yes, but I hate to eat alone,” said Jake, turning to look up at the big screen television. KABW’s local cable access channel was still showing the Chinook’s arrival, although someone at the studio must have been working a fast edit as they had there was footage taken both down at the yard and as the former ferry moved backward up the channel. It then cut to a live feed of Randy Burrows poking the microphone in Alex’s face as he asked a few questions. At some point, they cut back to the new studio where a woman began talking about something unrelated.

  “Thanks, Maddy,” said Jake as she brought him his soup.

  “Oh God, look at her.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Roxy Eggans.”

  “Oh.”

  “Arrow Bay’s very own celebrity. At least she thinks she is,” said Maddy disgustedly. “I swear you run into that woman’s ego five feet before you ever get to her.”

  “How did she end up on KABW? Excellent soup.”

  “I don’t know. I thought Randy had better taste than that.”

  “Maybe some favors were granted,” said Jake, looking at the blonde, buxom woman with too much make-up. She had high cheekbones and sparkling blue eyes her perpetual smile did not touch. She was dressed in a bright blue blazer with a fuchsia scarf and a dove pin on her lapel.

  “If you mean what I think you do, not a chance. Randy’s been after Kelly Zawiki forever.”

  “Kelly Zawiki? At the Bluegrass Nursery?”

  “That’s the one. She’s a perfect size six, and I’d hate her if she wasn’t so nice.”

  “Sorry, Maddy, I tend to notice Cody Hunter more when I’m at the nursery,” Jake said, thinking of the burly, scruffy man who only shaved about every six days and had arms like two cannons.

  “He’s a cutie, isn’t he?” she agreed. “As for Roxy, I think the deal being struck was more along the lines of the lot behind KABW that Randy expanded onto. He’d been after that piece of property for years and Roxy wouldn’t sell it. I think that maybe she arranged for Randy to get the land if Roxy got the job. I may have to kill him for it,” she said, walking away to get Jake’s salad.

  “Damn,” said Sam from behind him. “The SOB is trying to stalemate the game.”

  Jake finished his soup, his eye still on KABW. Roxy was talking about something to do with a problem with Arrow Bay’s sewer s
ystem. The camera cut to a shot of a city worker, then back to Roxy. She talked for a few more minutes when suddenly the Reverend Crawford’s face popped up on the screen.

  “Hey, Maddy, turn that up please!”

  Maddy pulled a small remote control out of her apron pocket, pointed it at the screen, and the Reverend Crawford’s voice echoed over the half-empty bar.

  “…times like these it is important to come together as a community. That’s why I felt it was important to do something to help the healing begin. It’s never too late to start the healing, even if the one responsible for the crimes has not been apprehended yet.”

  The scene changed to a shot of Bedford Memorial Park, which was located on a hill above town. Roxy Eggans’s nasal voice came over the image: “The memorial and healing service will be held at Bedford Memorial Park and is open to all residents of Arrow Bay. Reverend Crawford will hold a short sermon for Reed Longhoffer and Leona Weinberg, then will lead a group prayer. People who knew Reed and Leona are encouraged to share their fond memories of the two notable townspeople.”

  The camera cut back to Reverend Crawford, who said, “We’ll be having the service on Wednesday the fifteenth at two in the afternoon, rain or shine.”

  The camera was back on a live shot of Roxy Eggans, who was now going on about vandals who had destroyed the record pumpkin at the Kulshan County Harvest Fest. Maddy set down Jake’s salad and muted the television again.

  “Well that ought to bring out all the head hunters,” she said.

  “That’s kind of what I was thinking,” said Jake, knowing who was really behind the plan. He heard Sam thunk a chess piece down and then return to the table.

  “That ought to give him fits for a while,” said Sam, looking up at the television for the first time. “My God, what is that?”

  “That, I think, is going to be Arrow Bay’s answer to Diane Sawyer,” said Maddy.

  “Is that Roxy Eggans? What has she done to herself?”

  “Given the tightness of her face I’d say a little nip, tuck and yank on the back to pull up the slack,” said Jake.

  “Remind me to go home and cancel our cable. And that was catty of you, Jacob.”

  “Hey, I still haven’t forgiven her for trying to sell us that place with the asbestos tile in it.”

  “I’d forgotten all about that,” said Sam as Maddy returned with their orders. “Although she may not have known it was full of asbestos at the time.”

  “My ass she didn’t. She knew damn well it did. She failed to disclose it. We could have sued.”

  “Maybe we should have, given where she’s turned up,” said Sam, shoving Jake’s empty salad plate aside to take up his chicken sandwich.

  “Did you see what the Reverend is up to?”

  “No,” said Sam. “I was trying to box Caleb in.”

  “She’s having a memorial service for Reed and Leona the fifteenth.”

  “You think Haggerty is behind it, don’t you?”

  “Of course I do. He knows the killer won’t be able to resist showing up. He’s probably already hopping up and down mad that the death of…you-know-who hasn’t been reported.”

  “You mean Voldemort?”

  “That is my joke and you know what I mean.”

  “Well, it’s not a bad idea.”

  “It’s a stupid idea. The killer won’t make any mistakes. He or she hasn’t so far, and won’t at this little gathering. He’ll—or she’ll—sit back and watch everyone and get a big kick out of it then go and…I don’t know. What’s left for them to do from Grimm’s Fairy Tales? Lord knows there’s enough violence and gore in there.”

  “I’d rather not think about it,” Sam said. “I think you’re right though. Haggerty isn’t going to catch this cat by conventional means.”

  “And according to Alex, he’s under a lot of pressure to catch the guy.”

  Sam attacked his salad while Jake ate his fries. Maddy returned to fill their sodas and then changed the channel after complaining she couldn’t stand another second of Roxy Eggans.

  “I feel bad for Detective Haggerty,” said Sam.

  “So do I. It can’t be easy. This isn’t like last time. Little Susie Sunshine was a little more clear-cut. I don’t have a clue about who is doing this,” said Jake, annoyed. “I keep thinking I’ve overlooked something.”

  “How so?”

  “A slip up somehow. I can’t think of what.”

  “Maybe you could use the memorial service to your advantage,” said Sam.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You could take the time to maybe ask a few questions of, say, Randy Burrows or Emma Kennedy and see what they meant by that whole ‘two down’ comment. Maybe ask Marion Burd what she felt about Alexander Blackburn Junior, or how a SuperLoMart going in across from her house would have affected her…”

  “Technically, Sam, that’s what is known as ‘poking your nose into a murder investigation,’ which is something we’re not supposed to be doing, remember?”

  “You heard Alex talking to Detective Haggerty. He needs the help.”

  “Samuel Patrick O’Conner. A decade together and you still keep me guessing.”

  “Good,” said Sam, stealing a French fry off Jake’s plate. “I like keeping a little mystery in our life.”

  “As long as it doesn’t involve corpses, I’m all for it.”

  * * *

  Jake Finnigan was one of those rare and fortunate people who knew exactly what his strengths and weaknesses were. Some qualities, such as his bluntness, were both. He knew he’d never win any awards for treacle coating the truth, but that didn’t mean he was without tact. He could, in fact, be very tactful and still be direct. But not when his patience was wearing thin.

  “What is it now?” said Sam, who wore suits like a second skin. His dark blue, vested Nautica suit made him look like a movie star from the forties. He adjusted his black silk tie, ran a comb through his hair and beard, and adjusted his round, wire-rimmed glasses before turning to Jake to help him straighten his tie.

  “It’s hopeless,” bemoaned Jake.

  “It’s your damn muscles. Your additional bulking up has made the suit too tight through the shoulders. I thought you were cutting back?”

  “I have,” said Jake. “It takes a while for it to play down.”

  Sam looked at his husband with a critical eye. “Nope, that’ll never do. Take it off.”

  “But—”

  “Take it off. Put on your khaki slacks and black dress shirt.”

  Jake did as he was told. When he returned, Sam was holding out his black sport jacket and maroon tie. Jake slipped the coat on, letting Sam tie his tie for him. When he inspected himself, he had to admit he not only felt more comfortable, but looked it.

  “Much better. Throw your Calvin Klein black wool top coat over that, and you’ll look great.”

  “You mean we’ll look like twins. You’ve got an identical coat.”

  “Big deal, it’s a top coat, and your leather pea coat isn’t formal enough. It’s thirty six degrees out there and no one will notice. Have you worked out what you’re going to do?”

  “Yep. I’m going to sneak up behind Kennedy and Burrows and slip them a mickey. Once they’re drugged, we’ll sign them onto a cargo ship headed for Trinidad and ransack their file cabinets.”

  “You forgot about using the blackjack on Detective Haggerty and selling him on the black market for transplant organs.”

  “I hadn’t got to that part yet. That happens after we lock Marion Burd in the cellar of the Illahee Inn and wall her up alive until she tells us that she bumped Reed Longhoffer off.”

  “Silly me,” said Sam. “I forgot.”

  “Did you call Jason and tell him to bugger off?”

  “I called your brother and asked him to maintain a discreet distance.”

  “I don’t think he knows the meaning of the word,” said Jake, straightening his tie. “And I’ll have to watch Derek as it is. I’m sure he’ll be
lurking in the bushes with his notepad, trying to figure out who did what to whom.”

  “Jason said Derek took himself off the story. After the run in with Haggerty, he didn’t want any part of it.”

  “Have they received any more notes?”

  “No. And Haggerty deemed the one sent to Reverend Crawford a hoax.”

  “He what?”

  “You,” said Sam, handing a brush to Jake, “need a haircut. And you heard me.”

  “What the hell is Haggerty playing at? He knows that wasn’t any hoax.”

  “Don’t rush to judgment, Jacob. Did you ever think that Haggerty may just be putting that out to fool the killer?”

  He had to admit Sam had a point. “Okay, I will give him the benefit of the doubt.”

  “I saw the note,” said Sam. “Given what was reproduced in the Examiner, it looked like a match. Not that I’m going to send a letter to the editor proclaiming as much. I don’t even like to think of what Grimm’s Fairy Tale I might end up in.”

  “I don’t think you’re an enemy of Arrow Bay, Samuel. It could be a hoax. Anyone could get copies of the Examiner and clip themselves a note.”

  “I agree,” said Sam, sliding his coat on. “Only thing is, there was a methodic neatness to these letters. They weren’t all hodge-podge. They were cut uniformly and pasted on like the guy used a t-square or something.”

  “Possible that he did. And someone could have noted that when they saw the letter.”

  “Wait. You just said you didn’t think it was a hoax, I thought?”

  “I don’t. I’m just thinking at it from all angles,” said Jake as they walked down the stairs. He called out to Barnaby, who jumped off the couch. Jake put his leash on and opened the front door.

  “You think we should take him?”

  “I don’t see why not. He needs a walk anyway.”

  “Yeah, but it’s a memorial service. What if he…”

  “Hmm,” said Jake. “I see your point. Well, we’ll walk him around a bit first so he doesn’t decide this happy gathering is an opportune time to relieve his bladder.”

  Chapter Thirty-two