A Match Made for Murder

by Iona Whishaw

  “No, he hasn’t been at work,” the foreman said when they asked after Finch. “Influenza, he says. Between Watts dying and Finch on the sick list, I’m pretty short-handed. Mind you, I don’t need anyone spreading germs around here, but he couldn’t get back fast enough for me.” The foreman lit a cigarette, apparently deciding to extend the break provided by Ames and Terrell turning up.

  “Was he at work on Tuesday?” Ames asked. He wasn’t sure how relevant this question was as it seemed to him highly unlikely Finch was going anywhere with a man whom he appeared to hate.

  The foreman shook his head. “Don’t think so. No, because I was short that day as well.”

  “One of your men said there’d been an argument between Watts and Finch. Did you hear it?” Ames asked.

  “Heard about it. Something to do with a woman. Now, I found that surprising. Finch is a married man with kids in high school. Watts is married too, for that matter. All I heard is one of the men heard Finch say, “You stay away from her, or else.”

  “Is it possible Finch could have been talking about his wife, or maybe even his daughter?”

  The foreman shook his head, an expression of dismay on his face. “I sure wouldn’t like to think so. That girl of Finch’s is only about sixteen.”

  “Can we have a look in Watts’s locker?”

  “No point. His missus came and emptied it out. Took a couple of bundles of stuff. No reason not to give it to her.”

  Terrell knocked on the door of the small, shabby bungalow on the steep rise that looked down on the Nelson side of the ferry landing. He and Ames could hear someone talking somewhere inside, but no one came. He knocked again, and finally, after a further wait, a woman opened the inner door and looked at them through the screen door. A strong odour of cigarette smoke preceded her. She looked exhausted and unkempt, as if she had not left the house for several days.

  “Mrs. Finch? I’m Sergeant Ames, and this is Constable Terrell from the Nelson police. May we have a word?”

  The woman’s hand jerked to her chest, and her eyes filled with tears. Her voice was desperate. “Oh my God! I was just going to call you! Craig’s out looking for her. Something’s happened to her, hasn’t it?”

  Lane was standing outside number 27 deep in thought, having watched Martinez walk across the garden with Ivy Renwick toward the main entrance. He managed somehow to convey the feeling she was going willingly by merely indicating with his hand where she should go. But Lane knew it was as close to an arrest as she had ever seen. What had he found out? It must have been compelling. Was the Holden line of questioning being discarded? She opened the notepaper Ivy had given her and went inside number 26 to place the call to the law firm in Wisconsin. Finally, after what seemed an interminable wait, the desk phone rang. “We have Delany and Pratt on the line, madam.” The operator sounded distant and tinny, like she might be on another continent.

  It took some time to explain the situation because she didn’t know how much they knew about the Renwicks’ trip to Tucson, but she made clear that Jack Renwick had been shot and Mrs. Renwick needed the services of a lawyer in Tucson as quickly as possible. She heard the thump of the receiver being put down, muffled voices calling out and, eventually, another voice.

  “One of our partners was able to contact a banking lawyer in Phoenix who gave us the name of a firm in Tucson: Davis and Tackman. We will call ahead now. Wait fifteen minutes and then ask for Mr. Rodney Davis.”

  She waited impatiently for the fifteen minutes to go by and then rang through again to the main desk and asked to be put through to the number she’d been given. While she waited, she imagined the stiff-collared lawyers at Delany and Pratt scurrying madly about, trying to think about what the wrongful death of the president of Renwick’s company was going to mean. When she did finally reach Davis, he had not yet received the call, so she was obliged to explain the predicament Ivy Renwick was in and to say that she urgently required a lawyer at the police station.

  “Has she been arrested?”

  “I don’t really know. What I heard was that they were taking her to the station for questioning. She said she would not speak to them without a lawyer.”

  That call over, Lane sat back and breathed a sigh of relief. She would go and see how Darling was getting along with the tennis pro. She was making for the door when the telephone rang again.

  “I have Canada on the line for you.” Lane waited, her brows knitting, trying to move her mind away from the Renwick situation to whatever this was about.

  “Hello, Lane Winslow speaking,” she said.

  “Miss Winslow, it’s Sergeant Ames.”

  “Of course, it is! I’d know that voice anywhere. How nice to hear from you. How are you?”

  “I’m well, thank you, at least . . . is the inspector there?”

  “He’s off playing tennis at the moment. I can get him to call you. Is there anything I can help with? Anything to do with your strange case?” she asked, smiling.

  “I bet you would have figured it out long before now. No. It’s an awkward personnel problem. In fact, I seem to be swimming in awkward problems right now. I’ve got a situation with Tina Van Eyck.” He stopped. Should he tell her about that? She may have some woman’s intuition.

  “Oh?”

  “My case up here has gotten complicated, and I found out Miss Van Eyck was lying to me. I mean, it isn’t a murder or anything, just a robbery, and she probably wasn’t even involved, but, you know.”

  “It must have been awkward for you to have to interview her. How did she lie to you?”

  “It started with someone painting an ugly word on their garage door in the night. I won’t say it, but it was likely directed at her. When I asked her about it, she claimed it was someone she’d had a fight with because he’d made a pass at her when he’d brought his car in. What I found out later was that she actually knew the guy back in the thirties and she hates him because, well, I don’t know why. But the point is, she could have told me in the first place. Instead, I had to find out somewhere else. And here’s the problem: it turns out the guy probably was going somewhere with a woman when he died. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t Miss Van Eyck, but still.”

  “Why are you sure it wasn’t her?”

  Ames was silent. “She seems to have—God, I can’t believe I’m saying this about her—an alibi. I just want to believe she wasn’t planning to run off with him.”

  “So it sounds like you’re worried on three counts: one, she lied to you when you thought you were friends; two, you’re worried that if she lied to you she has something to hide; and three, she might have had plans to go somewhere with this man.”

  Ames took a deep breath, feeling some relief at the clarity Lane was bringing to his dilemma. “That’s right. I’m just finding the whole thing difficult because she is hiding something, I’m sure of it, and it could be relevant to the case.”

  “I certainly see that. It sounds like you’re upset because she doesn’t seem to trust you.”

  “Exactly. She suddenly seems to have taken completely against the police, on top of that. There’s a crime, and she’s not really cooperating. I think she should tell me why she hated the dead man, but what if it had nothing to do with anything?”

  “She would be angry at you for forcing her to tell you something personal that perhaps involved hurt or shame from the past. What do you think the inspector would do?”

  Ames answered without hesitation. “He would talk to her gently and impartially. I don’t know how to do that, especially when I’m angry.”

  “And you’re angry because you like her, and you wish she trusted you. It is a dilemma. It’s hard to be impartial.” She paused, but Ames didn’t seem to have anything more to add. “I’ll get the inspector to call you as soon as possible. Is there a good time?”

  “I’ll be in and out. We’ve just learned of a missing
teenager, and it might be related to this case. We’re calling the local rcmp detachments to be on the lookout, and we have to interview her friends. In retrospect it wasn’t that important. Just some office stuff.”

  When Ames hung up, he felt slightly better. He looked at his notes, took up his pen, and added another question: “Why is Tina VE really angry at the victim?” All signs were pointing to him being a predatory bastard. Had Tina been one of his victims? He added this to the list of unknowns and then put “Terrell to interview?” in parentheses, and looked at the clock. And, in a surprising and ugly turn, they now saw it was possible that sixteen-year-old Ada Finch had run away because she had been the object of Watts’s attentions. No wonder Finch was furious. Ada Finch had two close friends, and he and Terrell would be off to see them at around four, after they got home from school.

  Lane found Darling at the tennis courts making a very good account of himself. She sat on a bench at the edge of the court and admired his serves and returns. It was a revelation to her that he played tennis, as it had been in the summer when she had learned that he was a good dancer. It opened up an avenue of wondering what else she didn’t know about him. On the one hand it delighted her to think that there was much yet to learn, and on the other hand it made her wonder how she had married him on such a meagre acquaintance. He stood now, swaying, nimble in the knees, tennis racket at the ready in two hands, waiting for the pro to serve. He was wearing a white short-sleeved shirt and linen trousers, and his arms were beginning to tan. She had a giddy moment of feeling herself married to a complete stranger, so unlike the serious- minded police inspector did he seem at this moment.

  “Fault!” he called, in a professional-sounding voice.

  She realized that it was she who should submit herself to the teachings of the pro, as she had only played a bit of tennis at Oxford and could not rise to nearly the skill level of her new husband. She lowered her head and looked at the red of the clay.

  Of course, it wasn’t true, was it? There had been a red clay tennis court at home when she was a child. Her father had insisted both his daughters play and had demanded, as he did on all matters involving their education, they play well. Her sister had taken to it like a duck to water. Lane had merely enjoyed it. She could still hear her father tossing his racket on the table and wiping his face with his handkerchief, saying to no one in particular, “She’s absolutely bloody useless. Not a competitive bone in her body.”

  She looked up to see Darling and the pro shaking hands over the net. “Thank you. That was good fun. I haven’t played since I was at university. Not much opportunity now.”

  “Well, you haven’t lost your instincts. Is this your missus?”

  “Yes, indeed. Lane, this is Benny. Benny, my wife, Lane. She’s very clever, so I expect she’s secretly good at tennis and just hasn’t told me.”

  Benny’s tanned face lit up with a dazzling smile. “Ma’am,” he said, nodding. “Later today? I have a lesson with another guest now, but after lunch I have a free slot.”

  “Yes, why not?” said Lane. “I haven’t played since I was at Oxford in thirty-eight. Not very well, I’m afraid.”

  “That’s what I’m here for,” Benny assured her.

  “You’re very good,” Lane said as they strolled along the brick paths back to their room. “I’m honestly waiting with bated breath to see what other skill you pull out of a hat. In fact, I don’t think we know each other well enough at all. I’m not sure we didn’t marry in haste.”

  Darling put his arm through hers. “We have leisure. Shall we go engage in a spot of repenting?”

  “Not until you call Sergeant Ames. I was on the line to him just before I came to watch you. He said it wasn’t urgent, and I know it’s expensive, but I expect he’d like to hear from you.”

  Darling opened the door and stood aside to let her in. “Well, perhaps he’ll pay for it, then. I don’t recall inviting Ames on our honeymoon. Why can’t he stay where he’s put?”

  “I’ll be outside with my feet up reading about Lord Peter and the nine tailors. And then I have big, very ill Renwick news.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Tina Van Eyck stood looking at the top of her father’s head as he leaned into the engine of a ’39 Plymouth coupe. She was completely out of sorts. She felt guilty about her treatment of Daniel Ames, and in the next moment this was replaced by a wave of fury at his questioning her like a common criminal. But of course, he has to, she thought. It’s his job. She fervently wished she didn’t like him so much. He seemed almost too young, though he couldn’t be more than a year or two younger than she was. Maybe it was that he was genuine, open. And so damned optimistic. He was more or less what he appeared to be, and you couldn’t say that about most men. But he also was a policeman.

  She was so muddled that it took her a moment to realize that her father, for the second time, was saying, “Plug wrench, when you feel able.”

  “Sorry, Dad. A million miles away.”

  “You certainly were. Is it this business with Watts being dead?” He pulled himself upright and leaned on the car, looking across the engine at her. “I can’t get over the idea that he comes and ruins our paint job and then ends up dead.” He stood up straight and said tentatively, “I thought I heard you arguing with him that day.”

  “Yup. I did. He made a pass at me. The police will want to make something of that, as well.” She turned angrily away and reached for the plug wrench, handing it to her father, who took it without taking his eyes off her.

  He frowned. “I wish he’d never come. Why would he come, suddenly like that? It’s not like there aren’t other service stations,” her father said bitterly.

  “Dad, I don’t need you to fight my battles. I’ve dealt with worse than him.”

  Mr. Van Eyck shook his head and looked into the engine. “What about that sergeant—aren’t you a little sweet on him? You could do worse.”

  “Look, Dad. I’m not sweet on him, or anyone, so can we just drop it? I had enough agro from men in the old country. And I’m not in the market.” Tina had gone to England to join the Auxiliary Territorial Service and had worked as a mechanic for the duration of the war. She’d come back fed up with men. Now she found herself attracted to Sergeant Ames and felt the more foolish for letting her feelings off the reins.

  Shrugging, her father leaned back into the engine. “Suit yourself.”

  Later, Tina took the opportunity provided by a break in the rain to walk down to the lakeshore. In spite of the damp, cold gloominess of November weather, she loved to sit looking out at the lake, winter or summer. It reminded her that her puny human problems were not the only thing in the world. She sat on the top of the tilted, weathered picnic table on the edge of the tiny cove of sand at the bottom of the property and gave herself up to gazing at the expanse of dark water. Today the lake was brooding but utterly quiet except for the gentle singsong lap of the water along the sand. The mountains rose dark and misty on the other side of the lake, suiting her dark mood.

  Should she have told Ames? She couldn’t bear to remind herself of it. And it wasn’t relevant. She turned a yellowed leaf that had lodged on the table in her fingers. The problem was, she hadn’t liked lying to Ames. It was in such contrast to the forthright girl she’d always thought herself. But if she’d told him the truth about knowing Watts, she’d have had to explain. And if she explained, it would seem like she had a motive to harm him. No. That wasn’t it, and she knew it. It was shame. Pure and simple. A shame she couldn’t even confront in herself.

  Lane sat under the ramada, white wine in hand. “So what did Amesy want?”

  “Not till you tell me the Renwick news.”

  “Only that Ivy Renwick was as good as arrested by Martinez.”

  Darling tilted his head, puzzled. “What do you mean, ‘as good as’? And how do you know, anyway?”

  “As you know, I’
d popped over to see if she was all right.”

  “Of course you had,” Darling said, turning his wine glass.

  “And,” Lane continued firmly, “I’d not been there five minutes when Martinez came by. I tried to make myself scarce, but Ivy insisted I stay. He told her he’d discovered she had not been telling the truth and she was required at the police station for questioning. He also said they were in the process of questioning Ned. She asked me to call her lawyers in Wisconsin and get them to find counsel down here to meet her at the police station. She seemed, I don’t know, nervy and hard in a way I hadn’t quite seen before.”

  “It takes a lot of nerve and hardness to kill your husband,” Darling suggested.

  “You’re jumping to conclusions though, aren’t you? Thank you,” Lane said to the waiter who had deposited a Cobb salad at each of their places. “I’d like to learn to make these fluffy white buns.”

  “I wouldn’t say jumping. You’re telling me she’s hard, and I saw her coming back this morning from somewhere in a cab, and I absolutely swear she did look furtive. Besides, I liked him—Jack, I mean. He was a straightforward sort of man. He certainly didn’t deserve to end up like that.”

  “And why are they questioning her brother-in-law?” she asked. “Is there a suggestion they are in this together?”

  “I think I’ve learned something about you,” Darling said, contemplating her. How lovely she was! “It’s not that you are mad to see justice done. It’s that you’re a nosy Parker, looking for tantalizing gossip everywhere you go.”

  “Tantalizing gossip, my dear, holds the key to every case. Well, it’s out of our hands. Now, Ames.”

  “Yes. Apparently O’Brien made a rare venture up the stairs to Ames’s office to say the lads are troubled by Terrell. He wasn’t quite sure whether O’Brien was trying to say they are unhappy to have to work with a coloured police officer, or they aren’t sure how to handle the public’s misgivings, or if they think he is standoffish.”