Corkscrew (Reid Bennett)

by Ted Wood

  His involvement with the gang had started the year before, in Vancouver. He had been in some rock club and made a pickup. His partner was connected with the bikers, and before the kid really knew what was going on, they had him on videotape. He had already told his pickup that his grandfather was a hotel owner, so the Devil's Brigade didn't sell the tape along with the others they were making. They kept it until they were ready to move into Ontario. They figured it would give them some strength in their negotiations with Corbett. Once they had him hooked, they felt they would have credibility in Toronto. They could expand and set up in opposition to the local gangs.

  "Where did this guy Spenser fit in?" Positano asked when the boy's story started getting too wrapped up in his own adventures.

  "He was our contact with a supplier in the States. He would carry our tapes over there when he traveled on academic business. He always had tapes with him, anyway, and nobody questions a professor. It was a beautiful pipeline for our stuff." He sounded smug, and I noted the "our." No doubt about it, with or without his own Harley hog, he was a biker.

  "Rough line of work for a professor to be in, wasn't it?" Positano suggested.

  Waters shrugged. "He got favors in return."

  "What kind of favors? Drugs, women, money, what?" Positano allowed his voice to become impatient, but the kid did not crack.

  "Some drugs, some money," he said, and licked his lips but said no more. Had Spenser been another of his lovers? I wondered. Right now it didn't matter, so I didn't interrupt. We all sat there and heard him out, picking up a lot of information that tied ends of the case together. Yes, he had been good friends with young Kennie. No, it was not a sexual friendship, although the younger boy had hero-worshiped him to an embarrassing degree. Yes, Kennie had been angrily jealous of his stepfather, which accounted for the photograph and the angry letter. Spenser had been in the habit of picking up cocaine from Waters, once right at the door of Waters's apartment.

  When he finally ran down, Positano glanced at the uniformed man. "You had a message, Rick?"

  "Yeah, Sarge, I do. The Gravenhurst detachment has stopped that Mercedes and got the Corbett guy. They're bringing him back here. The constable says he swore but said he would come back. They've sent one man to ride with him so he doesn't take off."

  "Good. How long ago did they get him?"

  "Just when you started talking to the boy there, half an hour, say."

  "Should be here soon," Positano said. "Good news. Maybe we can wrap all o' this up. Meantime, let's ship these guys somewhere they can be safe overnight."

  He went out to the back of the station with a couple of his Task Force men. Andy and I sat where we were, not saying anything. I guess he was still coming down after the role he had played for so long, in constant fear of being found out. Me, I was flattened by the knowledge that I'd lost a good thing when I'd let Fred go. I was thinking about her when I should have been working on the case, and suddenly I was sick of the whole mess. So the bikers had been booked. I was still going to wake up alone in the morning. I've known a lot of women, but she was different. She mattered to me more than the others. I had been sad when she'd left before, able to understand her reasons but wishing we could have gone on as we had that month or so she had spent here with me. And now she had come back, and I'd blown it, scared her off again. I excused myself and walked out into the darkness, glad to hear the door close on the madness of the investigation, the nonstop shouting of the bikers, and the ringing of the telephone and the clatter of the typewriter.

  Fred's Honda was sitting behind the station, hidden behind an OPP van. Impulsively I took out her key ring from my pocket and unlocked it, then sat behind the wheel, breathing deeply, trying to recreate her in my mind from the faint impression of her perfume that lingered there like music heard over a wall.

  A voice said, "Are you going home now?" and I started and turned to see her leaning down over me.

  "Fred? I thought you'd gone." I stood up and put my hands on her shoulders.

  "I did. Then I found you still had my keys, including the key to your place, so I came back."

  "It's safe to go now, if you want to." I let go of her and held out her key ring.

  "Safe? You mean the bikers are locked up?"

  "Yes, we're just tidying up, booking them, routine stuff."

  "And I can go?" Her voice had a quizzical lilt.

  "It's safe to hit the road. But I hope you won't."

  "Why?"

  "Do you need telling?"

  She didn't speak for a moment; then she nodded. "Yes, I do need telling." She began to cry silently.

  "So why the hell are you crying? I love you. Let's take it from there."

  "Do you?" She turned her wet face up to me. Slowly she reached her arms up and put them around my neck, and we kissed without speaking. When we broke she said, "You're stuck with me now, for keeps."

  "In that case, come back inside and I'll let everybody know we're going home."

  We moved apart, but she clung to my hand. "I want that, but not now," she said softly. "You're in the middle of this case. The show must go on. I'll wait till you're through. Then we go home."

  I gave her hand a squeeze, and we went back into the station. The young OPP man on the desk recognized her, and he did a double take, then glanced at me, wondering maybe if I was going to blush. Fred sat down on the pew in the front of the office and smiled at me. "Go get 'em," she said.

  I went back through the counter and cornered Kennedy. He looked up at me and grinned. "Got your lady back. Good."

  "Yeah. She says she'll wait until we've wrapped up here."

  "Keep a hold of that one," he said. "You've got a winner. My old lady gave up understanding my job a long time ago."

  "I was going to talk to you about this guy Corbett. I think he smothered the little boy. I know you've got your hands full, but this case comes top on my list. I don't want him to get away with it."

  "What've we got on him?" He shoved his chair back and swung both feet onto the desk. "Okay, I'm the crown attorney. Convince me we should put the bastard away."

  It was good discipline. I went over the case for him, logically. "First, Corbett was involved with both gangs of bikers. One of them had trashed the house to scare him and had hit the boy in the head. Then someone had smothered the boy and moved the body into the Corbett launch and dumped it into a deep part of the lake. Someone, the same someone, probably, had thrown flour over the floor."

  "How'd you know the bikers didn't do that when they trashed the place?" Kennedy argued.

  "Because there's only one footprint in it. They would have vandalized the place from the kitchen on in; that's the typical pattern. Start where you enter and keep on going. If they had scattered that flour, there would have been more footprints."

  "Doesn't mean a lot," Kennedy said. "But if this Corbett was in there, then logically he'd have flour on his clothes."

  "Doesn't seem to. He was in a good suit. Looked like he'd stepped out of a bandbox."

  Kennedy shook his head. "No. It's not sticking. Where's the motive?"

  I stood staring at him without seeing him, filling in the blank that had puzzled me. Why would the man do it? And then I remembered the conversation I'd had with him a million years ago, just after I'd been suspended. "How's this for size? He's trying to raise money for a resort out on the lake. He told me he's tied in with a church credit union. He said they weren't crazy about the fact that he was going to sell booze. They'd have dropped him like a hot rock if they knew he was tied in with bikers."

  Kennedy's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. I went on. "It's my bet he killed the kid to keep the thing quiet. Only the Spenser boy knew he'd been vandalized by bikers."

  "So?" Kennedy said. "They're ugly bastards. Could happen to anybody."

  I shook my head. "No. Some reporter would have dug out the connection. And once that got out then Corbett would've been tarred with the same brush. The investigation would have led to his busin
ess, and he could kiss his finance plans good-bye. Nobody would have touched him then. He wouldn't have stood a chance. No." I shook my head. "Just putting his name in the same sentence with bikers would have started the church group asking questions."

  Kennedy nodded. "And it wouldn't take long to dig out the fact that he's tied into soft-porn bars—strippers, table dancers, all of that good stuff."

  "Exactly. And when that happened he'd lose not only his loan but all the money he's sunk into the project so far. It could break him."

  Kennedy sucked his teeth thoughtfully. "He could've sweet-talked his way around it but I figure he just panicked and offed the kid."

  "Right," I said, and Kennedy nodded again. "Okay, that gives us reasonable and probable grounds for arresting him. Only he'll get off sure as hell unless we can come up with something concrete."

  "That engine block used to weigh down the kid's body—that probably came from the garage beside his place," I said. "His wife's got an old Ford station wagon."

  "Still circumstantial," Kennedy said. "Whoever dumped the kid could have picked up the block. Won't wash."

  I sat down on the edge of the desk. "That's the best I've got. You mean to say he's going to get off?"

  "No proof," Kennedy said. "I can arrest him on suspicion, but it isn't going to stick without proof."

  We sat there, staring at one another, and then some OPP men came back from searching the motorcycles, carrying another parcel of their findings. "Got the goods on this guy," one of them said happily. "Smack, needle, spoon, everything."

  I stood up. "Is the needle used?"

  "Yeah. Recently, I'd say. There's a bloodstain on it."

  "I guess you've got it in a bag, haven't touched it?"

  "Come on," he said sharply. "I know my job."

  "Sorry, I wasn't getting cute. Thing is, the man who went over the rock into the lake may have been shot full of something. If that's his blood on the needle, we've got a case against the man who owned it. You get more brownie points for homicide than for possession, right?"

  "A lot more." He nodded. "Do I get the pinch?"

  "For sure. Just make sure to keep the evidence intact," I told him, and he gave me a mocking salute and went over to the corner of the counter.

  Fred was watching me from her place on the pew, drinking a cup of coffee the man on the desk had brought her. She summoned me with one finger, and I went over to her.

  "You look worried," she said.

  "I am worried. I think that Corbett murdered that little boy, but I don't have any proof. We have enough suspicion to arrest him, but he's going to get off unless we find something we can take to a jury."

  "Like what?" Her face was sincere. Tired as she was and without makeup, she looked almost plain in the greenish light. She could have been acting a part for me or testing me to see if I still meant what I had said to her outside. If she was, I passed.

  "We need to establish that he touched the boy. Even if we show that he went back to the house and didn't tell us, it's not enough to prove anything. He might have flour on him, or rust or grease from the engine block he used to weigh down the body, but it's still not conclusive. The kind of lawyer he can afford would talk a jury out of convicting him. He'd get away."

  Sam was lying on the floor beside her, and she bent down and stroked his head with her left hand. He looked up at her indulgently but did not move.

  "I've got an idea," she said. "Give me Sam for a while."

  "What for?"

  "Don't ask. Just give me your dog, if you don't mind."

  I stood up straight and commanded Sam. "Easy." He stood, panting and watching me, and I turned him over to Freda. She nodded and walked outside.

  Kennedy had come to the counter. "Where's she going with the pooch?"

  "Damned if I know. Said she had an idea. That's more than I've got."

  I went out of the door to see where she had gone and found Corbett's Mercedes pulling in with an OPP car behind it. I stood there while he got out, then nodded to him. "Thanks for coming back. We have some things you can help us with."

  "This had better be good," he said angrily. "I was going back to my apartment, but they stopped me and I said, sure, if I can help. But if you're jerking me around, Bennett, you're going to be sorry."

  An OPP man was sitting in the passenger seat and he got out and I stood back to let them pass me and reach the station door. And then I saw Fred, with Sam, presenting him with something to sniff. And suddenly I saw she was doing what I should have done if I hadn't been past useful thought. We were going to get our conviction. I gave a short whistle, and she looked up as Corbett paused in the doorway. "What?" he asked angrily.

  "Nothing, just go in," I said, then turned back and held up one finger to check Fred. She cocked her head and frowned, and I held up the other hand, extended, five fingers, five minutes. She nodded and waited, patting Sam.

  I stooped and looked into the Mercedes. There was a garment bag hanging on a hook against the rear door. It looked as if it contained clothing. Without comment I followed Corbett into the station. Kennedy was at the counter, and I nodded to him. He raised his eyebrows and I said, "This is Mr. Corbett. I have reason to believe he murdered Ken Spenser and dumped the body into the lake. Can you caution him and read him his rights, please?"

  Corbett whirled on me. "What is this? What shit are you pulling? Me murder somebody? I'll have your job."

  Kennedy was opening his notebook and taking out the printed copy of the caution and the Charter of Rights speech. He overrode Corbett, reading doggedly through the whole speech while Corbett blustered and tried to take a swing at me.

  I caught his hand and held it, not hurting him. "Relax, please. Sergeant, now this suspect has been arrested, I want to look in his car."

  "That's fair and square," Kennedy said. "I'll come with you. Constable, please keep an eye on Mr. Corbett for us."

  "You can't search my car," Corbett shouted. "You've got no right."

  "You watch too many American TV shows, Mr. Corbett," Kennedy said. "In Canada we can search you and anything in your possession; that includes your car. Want to come and watch us?"

  Corbett swore, but he came outside, and there was Fred with Sam and the Spenser boy's sweatshirt. She put it in front of him and let him sniff it, then told him, "Seek."

  He circled in front of her, nose to the ground, and then I opened the door of the Mercedes. He lifted his nose to sniff inside and then bounded in and barked furiously at the garment bag that was hanging behind the front seat.

  Corbett swore again, but I opened the bag, revealing a casual shirt and pants on a good wooden hanger, the kind you would normally use only for a suit, like the one Corbett was wearing. Sam sniffed the clothes and barked again.

  I let him bark while I turned and spoke to Kennedy. "Sergeant Kennedy, the garment my dog used for reference is a shirt worn by the deceased, Kenneth Spenser. I think forensics will find flour and rust on these clothes matching the flour at the vandalized house and the engine block used to sink the boy's body. Also, the dog's actions prove that these clothes here have been in contact with the deceased boy." Very formal, very accurate. Kennedy just nodded and wrote that down in his book. I turned to Fred. "Could you tell him, easy, please, miss?"

  Fred nodded and said, "Easy." Sam relaxed, and she patted his head.

  I turned to Corbett, who was standing next to the OPP man, clenching and unclenching his hands. "You're guilty, Mr. Corbett. Why don't you tell the sergeant all about it."

  He clenched his hands shut one final time and said, "I want to see my lawyer."

  And that was it. They led him back inside and sat him down in a chair in the body of the station. Werner gave him some coffee and even offered him a dash of rye in it, but he shook his head and said nothing until he caught sight of his grandson. Then he exploded. "You little creep," he said, hissing his words softly but with enough venom to be heard all through the room. "This whole mess is your fault."

  The
boy ducked his head, not speaking. One of the OPP men led him outside while Werner told Corbett to relax. Just relax.

  Kennedy took me to one side and asked the big question. "This dog of yours, will he be able to do that again? I mean, we won't find some smart lawyer who'll rig a test so Sam fails? I like nice clean pinches."

  "I'll take care of the test," I said. "A lawyer would try to set one up and then sprinkle aniseed everywhere so the dog won't know what's happening. Given a fair test, my dog will pick up a scent anyplace anytime for up to two, three days after the event."

  "Then we've got this mother dead to rights," Kennedy said. "And we've got that needle and gear from that biker. That accounts for the second homicide, Spenser." He grinned at me out of tired eyes. "Two homicide arrests, plus the Indian woman we locked up at Magnetawan. Three for three, I haven't had a day like this before, ever."

  "Nor me," I said. "And if you don't mind, I'd like to end it right here."

  He held his hand out like a priest and sketched a cross. "Go in peace, my son."

  "Thanks. And thank you for bending the rules, letting me work with you even though I'm suspended."

  "That was bullshit." He laughed. "It's gonna burn Anderson's ass, but he's gonna be here tomorrow morning reinstating you. Now go on home. That lady of yours has had a long day."

  "I'm gone." I reached out and shook hands with him and then turned away. "See you tomorrow."

  He followed me to the counter and looked over at Fred. "Listen, this ugly fellah here probably won't think of it, but I want to tell you this. That was one fine job of police work you did. Thanks."

  Fred stood up, then mocked a curtsy, putting one finger under her chin and bending her knee. "Thank you, kind sir. I have a feeling I'm going to be doing more of it," she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  We left the station, me laden with the envious glances of all the single policemen in it, Fred walking tall. Outside she stopped and held both my hands. "How did you like my bright idea?"