“My name is Casey of the West End Clarion,” he said, showing his newspaper ID. “Margaret Mullen did not buy the car. Someone else bought it for her. A gift. I need the buyer’s name from your records.”
The sales clerk told him that the information was private. “Can’t help you, sir. Sorry.”
“The name will not be published in my paper,” Casey said. “I can promise you that.”
“If I gave you that information, sir, I’d be fired.”
“It will be in your computer database,” Casey said. “No one will know how I got it. Your job will be safe.” He slid a twenty-dollar bill over the glass counter at the young man. “Perfectly safe, I promise you.”
The clerk shook his head. “Sorry, sir, I couldn’t possibly…”
Casey took the twenty back and replaced it with a new one-hundred-dollar bill.
The young man looked about quickly, palmed the bill and pushed it into a trouser pocket. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a minute or two, sir, I’ll be right back.”
Casey waited.
He soon discovered that his hundred dollars had been well spent.
The buyer of Margaret Mullen’s Mini Cooper was Everest Enterprises.
The CEO of Everest Enterprises was George Hamilton Nash.
He found DI Plank shuffling papers in his office.
“Okay, Casey, let me see if I’ve got this right. First there’s the shoes on the videotape. You say you saw her wearing the same kind of shoes. That right?”
“That’s right, Frank.”
“Unusual shoes. Easy to spot. Silver buckles. Kind of old-fashioned style.”
“Right.”
DI Plank leaned back in his chair and scratched his thin gray hair. “So tell me again about her car.”
“It’s a new Mini Cooper,” Casey said. “The buyer was Everest Enterprises. Everest Enterprises was owned by George Hamilton Nash.”
“So Mullen was probably Nash’s mistress,” Plank said. “No crime there. Nash bought his girlfriend a car. No crime there either. You think Mullen might’ve killed him because she was jealous of your witness, Nash’s new secretary, Pauline Parker.”
“It’s possible.”
“You’ve got nothing, Casey. A pair of shoes that may or may not be the ones on the tape. Mullen was his mistress and she got a car out of it. But that doesn’t mean she killed him. Being a mistress is not a crime. Look, Casey, I’ll look into Mullen as a possible suspect, but the Homicide Department is stretched awful thin right now.”
“Joanne Drummond, Nash’s partner,” Casey said. “How is that investigation going?”
Plank sighed. “The mills of justice grind slowly, Casey. Why don’t you take a rest and leave this case to me? Poking your nose into a nest of rats can be big trouble. You’re gonna get hurt real bad one of these days, mark my words.”
“With my Irish luck? Forget it, Frank.”
Plank shook his head wearily. “Close the door on your way out.”
17
Casey dropped by Maggie Mullen’s office, on the third floor of city hall.
“I need to talk with you, Maggie. I’ll buy you a coffee across the street, at City Square.”
“Sorry, Casey. Not today. I’m up to my ears in work.” She flashed him one of her dimpled smiles. “You sound serious.”
“Then how about after work?”
“I’ll be working late. Sorry. But I could maybe meet you for a drink later if you like. I’ll give you a call or send a text message when I’m free.”
“Sounds good,” Casey said.
It was just about lunchtime when he got back to the office.
“No messages,” Brenda said.
Ozeroff swiveled around on her chair to greet him. “Hey, Casey. Want to take a hardworking, underpaid journalist to lunch?”
“Don’t see why not,” Casey said.
They ordered salads. Their seats at Hegel’s Bagels window gave them views of Denman Street, Morton Park and English Bay. The sunshine had brought everyone out. Walkers, joggers, cyclists everywhere. West Enders. Tourists. Colorful, crowded humanity.
“Who would want to live anywhere else?” sighed Ozeroff.
“Jack moved away,” Casey said. “To Victoria, remember?”
Jack Wexler, their former colleague, now retired.
“Just wait,” Ozeroff said. “Boredom will bring him back, you’ll see. Anything new and exciting up at Silly Hall?”
“The mayor pledges to end homelessness by 2015.”
“Good luck with that. You got to admire the guy for trying. Any news on the Nash case?”
Casey told her about Mullen’s Mini Cooper.
“So it looks like she was Nash’s regular bedmate, right?”
“Looks that way, Deb. But she doesn’t seem the jealous kind. Or the crazy kind. Not the killer, in other words.”
“Not a psycho,” Ozeroff said. “So scratch her off your list of suspects.”
“I don’t have a list,” Casey said. “The only one I have left is Joanne Drummond, Nash’s partner. DI Plank is keeping information on that investigation to himself.”
“But what about the silver-buckle shoes?” Ozeroff said, turning her attention away from her bean salad for a moment. “And the lies Mullen told? It seems to me your innocent Maggie Mullen had the opportunity to kill Nash. All you need to add to that is the motive. Opportunity plus motive equals suspect. Did Mullen have a motive?”
“My guess would be Pauline Parker was the motive,” Casey said. “Parker said Mullen didn’t like her. Parker stole her man. But is jealousy enough as a motive? Beats me.”
“Of course it is,” Ozeroff said. “That’s why it’s called the green-eyed monster. Green equals envy. Look at Othello. Jealous of his wife. Kills her. End of story.”
“But that’s just what it is, a Shakespeare story,” Casey said.
“You want real life? Then what about the woman a few years ago who found her husband in bed with his mistress? So she ran over him with her car. Then she ran over his body a few more times just to make sure he was good and dead.”
“That true?”
“Sure, it’s true,” Ozeroff said. “Jealousy is a major killer. Do you remember the woman a few years ago who cut off her husband’s penis and threw it—”
“Deb, stop! I’ve heard enough already.”
They went back to watching the activity outside in the street until it was time to go.
“Thanks for lunch, Casey.”
“You’re worth it, Deb.”
His cell buzzed just after five o’clock. He was in his office. It was Maggie Mullen.
“I could meet you around nine if you’re still up for it,” she said.
“Nine’s fine,” Casey said. “Cardero’s again?”
“I had trouble finding parking there last time,” Maggie said. “Even with my tiny car. Tell you what. Meet me in the Bayshore Hotel lounge. That’s close to where you live, right?”
“Five-minute walk.”
“Good,” Maggie said. “Their parking lot is huge.”
“I’ll see you there,” Casey said.
Maggie was on time. Casey watched her as she made her way gracefully through the automatic doors and across the opulent lobby. She glided into the carpeted lounge where he was waiting for her. He already had a whiskey and soda on the table in front of him.
He got up to greet her. “Hey, Maggie. Let me take your coat.”
Under the brown wool coat she was dressed simply in the brown cardigan, tan shirt, matching skirt and black slip-on pumps she’d worn earlier in the day. Fresh scent of freesias.
“Thanks,” Maggie said. “It’s the first day of summer, but you’d never know it. I’m glad I wore my coat.”
Casey wore his casual dark jacket, dark slacks and black loafers. “I already ordered you a Hemingway, is that all right?”
“Perfect,” she said.
They sat in plush chairs, facing one another across the table.
“I also
ordered a snacking plate of sushi,” Casey said. “Thought you might be hungry.”
“You think of everything.”
The waiter brought Maggie’s cocktail and the sushi plate.
They sipped their drinks and made themselves comfortable. But Casey wasn’t comfortable. What was he doing here? How could he ask this woman the personal questions that weighed on his mind? She was George Hamilton Nash’s mistress. So what? He liked her. He was sure she had nothing to do with his death.
Maggie leaned toward him, a smile on her lips. “So what’s on your mind, Casey?”
“It’s this Nash murder.” He sipped his whiskey, not sure where to start.
“You found something?”
“I’m not sure.”
She waited.
He took a deep breath. “You lied to me, Maggie.”
She was indignant. “Lied! What lie?”
“I asked you how well you knew George Nash. You told me you only ever said good morning to him. Yet I now know you visited him frequently in his office.”
“Frequently?”
“At least once a day. Behind a closed door.”
“I don’t know who told you that, Casey—probably that new secretary of his—but it’s pure nonsense. I haven’t been in Nash’s office more than once or twice in all the time I’ve known him. That little nobody is confusing me with someone else, obviously. Either that or she’s a nasty little liar.”
“My theory is that Nash was killed by a jealous mistress. A woman he knew from city hall.”
“Well, it wasn’t me. I didn’t know the man. You disappoint me, Casey. I thought you knew me better than that. I thought we were friends.” She put her drink down on the table and stared at him.
“Friends? Yes,” Casey said. “That’s what bothers me.” He paused, thinking. He didn’t want to mention the silver-buckle shoes. That might be a job better left to the police. “Here’s another lie, Maggie. You told me you were never married. Not true. You even have a child.”
Indignation turned to anger. Flushed porcelain cheeks, blue eyes flashing, chest puffed like a pigeon’s. “It’s really none of your business, Casey.”
“You’re right,” he said, “it’s not. But why lie about never being married?”
“It’s not a lie. You ever hear of privacy? What law says I must reveal myself to every stranger?”
“I was a stranger?”
“Yes, you were—and still are, more or less. I would have told you eventually, I’m sure. Very well. I’ll tell you now.” She paused to take a large breath. “My husband ran off with another woman and took my baby, my little boy. He left me with nothing.”
A young couple sat down at the next table. The woman wore a thick red sweater.
Maggie spoke quietly, looking down at their table. “I don’t know where my husband is,” she said. “I don’t know where my son is. It’s like they just disappeared.” Her tone became accusing. “You wouldn’t know what it’s like to lose a child, Casey.” Her eyes glistened with tears.
He waited.
“Colin would be thirteen now. I haven’t seen him since he was three years old. I don’t know what he looks like.” She fumbled in her purse and took out her wallet. “This is Colin.” She handed Casey a snapshot of a small child with bright eyes and a mass of dark curly hair.
Casey studied the picture and then handed it back. “Cute kid.”
“I don’t know a thing about him,” she said. “I don’t know whether he’s dead or alive.” She dabbed at tears with her table napkin. “For ten years I’ve grieved for my lost baby.”
“I’m sorry,” Casey said.
“If you think I had anything to do with Nash’s death, you’re crazy.”
“I don’t think you had anything to do with his death,” Casey said. “I find it impossible to see you as a murderer. I just want to hear you tell me it’s not true. Tell me it’s not true, Maggie.”
“It’s not true.”
“And you did not have an affair with Nash?”
“No.”
“There’s one more thing, Maggie. I made inquiries about your car.”
“My car? What has my car got to do with anything?”
“Wasn’t your Mini Cooper car a gift from Nash? A gift from a rich man to his mistress? A man you say you didn’t know? A man you say you had no affair with?”
She glared at him. “I bought the car with my own money. I paid for it, every penny.”
“And you weren’t Nash’s longtime mistress? Tell me the truth, Maggie. Imagine all the questions the police would ask you. They’d ask, ‘Did Nash promise to marry you after he left his wife? When he started sleeping with his secretary, were you jealous? He forgot about you. Were you angry? Were you mad, Ms. Mullen? So mad with jealousy that you killed him?’”
Her face was white. “I didn’t kill him.”
Casey said nothing more.
So far, neither of them had touched the sushi.
“You like me, Casey. I know you like me. How can you…?” Her voice choked with emotion.
She stood, picked up her purse and hurried away toward the washroom.
He watched her go.
It took awhile, but eventually she came back.
She sat down, took a deep breath and looked him in the eye.
“Here’s the truth, Casey,” she said, cool and composed. No sign of tears. “I was Nash’s girlfriend. Sexual partners, if you like. We slept together, but I was not his mistress.” She pressed her lips together. “For two years I was his girlfriend. He said he planned to divorce his wife and marry me. So you were right. I lied to you, but I don’t apologize for that. My life is my own. It’s private. Who do you think you are to come snooping into my life? To accuse me of murder! Some friend you turned out to be!”
Casey said nothing.
“I didn’t love George Nash,” Maggie said, “but I liked him. He treated me well. So now you know the truth.” She sat rigidly, back straight. “But I didn’t kill him. I don’t know who did kill him, but it wasn’t me. You were right about the car too. It was a gift. That’s all, just a gift. Why shouldn’t I let him buy me a gift? It was nothing to him, with all his money. I was looking out for myself. I grew up with nothing, remember? I was good to George Nash and he was good to me. That’s all. It’s as simple as that.”
“Okay, Maggie, I believe you,” Casey said. “I’m sorry. But the police could be asking all these questions and more.”
“If you go to the police with what you know, they will make it hard for me,” Maggie said. “I want you to tell them nothing. I want you to promise me. I want you to respect my privacy.”
“I can’t promise that, Maggie.”
She glared at him. “Then you’re no friend of mine.” She stood and retrieved her coat from the back of her chair. He stood to help her, but she marched off quickly across the lobby and out the automatic doors.
He watched her go, then sat and sipped his whiskey.
He didn’t know what to think of her. Was she sincere? Or had he just seen a brilliant piece of acting? And heard more of her lies?
Maggie Mullen was either innocent of any crime. Or she was the mother of all liars.
He took out his cell and placed a call to DI Plank.
18
The sushi still untouched, Casey paid the bill and headed out the door.
Almost dark. Twilight of the gods.
The doorman stood outside at the curb. “Taxi, sir?”
“No, thanks,” Casey said, crossing the parking lot. He walked past the line of waiting taxi-cabs, their drivers half asleep. Then a row of ornamental trees. Then he was aware of someone behind him. He whirled around but was too late. His head exploded. In the split second that it took to sink into darkness, he saw the sweet, pretty face of Maggie Mullen.
“What hospital is this?”
“St. Paul’s,” the nurse said.
“What happened?”
“You have a mild concussion.”
Cas
ey pushed himself up on his pillows and raised his arms. He could feel a dressing on the top of his head.
“There’s a visitor to see you,” the nurse said.
It was DI Plank. He carried a pineapple. He looked uncomfortable. “Can’t say I’m surprised to find you in hospital, Casey,” he said. “I warned you, remember?”
“What hit me?”
“A Mini Cooper tire iron. In the hands of your friend, Maggie Mullen.”
“Thanks for the pineapple.”
“Fruit helps the mending, they say.” He placed the pineapple on the bedside table. Then he took off his coat and sat in the plastic chair beside the bed.
The nurse picked up the pineapple. “I’ll cut some of it up for you,” she said, leaving the room.
“It was Mullen,” Casey said.
“We know,” Plank said. “We got her. You made enough noise to alert the taxi drivers. They held her and called nine-one-one.”
“How is she?” Casey said.
“Mullen? She’s in custody,” Plank said.
“How long have I been here?”
Plank looked at his watch. “Since ten thirty last night. It’s now almost ten thirty in the morning. Twelve hours.”
“The poor woman had her baby stolen away from her. She was crazy.” Casey felt sleepy.
The nurse came in with the sliced pineapple on a plate. “The patient should rest.”
Casey said, “She didn’t seem crazy. I liked her. Liked her a lot. When can I see her?”
Plank stood and reached for his coat. “Not until we’ve got her statement and the prosecutor gives the okay. Be a few days. We searched her place. Got the shoes. Got the hoodie. Looks like it’s got blood on it. DNA could tie it to the murder scene.” Plank put on his coat. “Gotta go.” He looked at the nurse. “You keeping him here awhile?”
“We’ll see how he is this afternoon,” the nurse said.
“I gotta be out of here this afternoon,” Casey said. “There’s somewhere I need to be.”
19
She emerged from customs into the waiting area, dragging her wheeled suitcase behind her.
Casey spotted her immediately and waved.
A Woman Scorned Page 7